Better Kept Secret
by BadonKaDank
Summary: With memories and sense of adventure restored, Stan is aching to learn more about his brother, or rather, the bits of his brother's past which he knows next to nothing about. However, much to his dismay, there are things Ford would rather keep buried.
1. Words Unheard for Thoughts Unsaid

**A/N:** _ **A quick heads up: I got my Journal 3 by the time I was nearly finished with this (thanks, Barnes and Noble for screwing that pre-order up and getting me stuck waiting for them to be back in stock… *cough*SoNotBitter*cough*) so everything I wrote up until the last chapter is based on observation, speculation, headcanon, and wishful thinking (every fan/author's recipe for disaster! Mwahaha).**_

 _ **On the bright side, I did get to go to Reedsport and got to check out the port/docks, so being able to actually visualize some of what I wrote was really nice! I may never get on a boat (deathly afraid of going into the ocean y'see) but I will say one thing: They and their little docks are so *clenches fist* beautiful and aesthetically pleasing.**_

* * *

 **Words Unheard For Thoughts Unsaid**

"So, you ever gonna answer my question, or are we just avoiding all Portal stuff forever?"

Stan knew there were better ways he could have, and possibly should have, worded his question, but his frustration had finally gotten the better of him and the man couldn't stop himself. It didn't prevent him from feeling the slightest bit guilty when he saw the way Ford stiffened and tightened the grip on his pen, of course, but it did keep him from immediately retracting the inquiry. Perhaps he was being pushy, even inconsiderate, but Stan felt he deserved an answer to the one thing he'd asked his brother periodically over the last couple of months.

He'd never tell Ford, but the fact that his brother still didn't trust him enough to share even the smallest amount of information hurt more than a lot of things that had happened to Stan since before Weirdmageddon. And maybe it was ridiculous and selfish, but he had almost been hoping he wouldn't _have_ to tell Ford, because Ford would just _know._

Sure, Ford kept in mind plenty of things that left Stan feeling enthusiastic about the progression of their relationship, like when he could tell Stan was upset over something, or when he just knew Stan was having a hard time with his memory without the man having to say anything.

Small things like that at least encouraged Stan and let him know they were getting there, even if it was taking longer than he'd hoped… even if he didn't know where "there" was. Unfortunately there were plenty of times, more often than not, that Ford was completely oblivious or just ignored him in hopes that he'd drop the topic or something equally as unlikely.

Stan still held out hope, though, that one of these days he'd get through to Ford and they'd be able to get some of the things that were obviously bothering the other out in the air.

Today wasn't turning out to be one of those days.

"Stanley," Ford sighed, obviously trying to sound exasperated, but it did nothing to help with the tightness in his voice, "We just managed to stave off a group of Fiji Monkeys, can we just focus on that?"

 _No,_ Stan wanted to say, _No, we can focus on what you are clearly avoiding- I mean come on, Sixer, you're not even being subtle about subject change anymore!_ But the words caught in his throat before Ford could tell they were forming in the first place.

No matter how badly he wanted to say those things to his brother, ultimately, Stan knew he wouldn't. At least not today. The last time he'd asked and pushed the issue Ford had avoided him like the plague for two days before Stan had confronted him and gotten the man to tell him what was wrong. That… had not been pleasant.

This time though, at least Ford hadn't scooped up his research notes and gone to their quarters. At least this time he was giving Stan a chance to leave it be. _Baby steps_ , Stan reminded himself. He did not want to screw up any of the progress they'd made so far. He couldn't. Not only did he love Ford too much to ever want to run the risk of losing him in any way, but he relied on him to keep him grounded when he had his lapses in memory and needed help finding his way back to reality.

Stan hated that- hated being a burden to his brother just like he was everyone else. No matter how many times Ford assured him there was no place he would rather be Stan found it hard to believe him. There was no way Ford didn't resent him, even a little bit. There was no way he didn't look at Stan every day and wonder why he'd bothered sticking around, because Stan was less than useless- less than worthless with his dumb, screwed up brain- and all he did was keep Ford from doing what he really wanted to do.

Ford could tell him a million and one times he truly wanted to be there, helping Stan whenever his memory decided to quit on him and send him freaking out at the sight of a face that looked like his, but Stan didn't think he'd ever buy it. And if one day he miraculously did, it wouldn't be any time soon.

Yet he never told Ford to leave him, to go off and be who he really wanted to be, because he needed his brother more than he could put into words, and losing him again wasn't an option. He'd lost him more times than he was comfortable.

The first time, watching those curtains close from his place on the sidewalk, had been like having a part of his soul halved. The second, watching Ford disappear, maybe forever because of something he'd done, felt like that halved part had been ripped away completely, leaving a bloody, desperate husk in its wake. Losing Ford the third time had actually felt like a part of his soul had been mended, because at least as his memory was burned away there was no great feeling of real loss. But when that memory came back again days later, that mended area felt more like a scab; something that itched and hurt but you could never decide whether it was good or bad.

He'd lost Ford too many times already and there was no way he could lose him again- he couldn't have Ford leave now, it'd shatter whatever shred of sanity he had left. So whatever he did, Stan knew he couldn't upset his brother so soon after their last argument over the same question. _Baby steps._

"'We'? C'mon, Poindexter, you and I both know _I_ did the staving. You just stood there yelling at me to do… whatever it was you were yellin' at me to do."

Ford's entire being seemed to heave a giant sigh of relief as soon as Stan scoffed and the younger twin tried not to feel a stab of pain as his brother's hold on the pen relaxed and he turned to show off his indignant but amused expression.

"As I recall, that yelling saved you from losing a hand."

Even if it wasn't the discussion he wanted to be having, Stan found himself slipping easily into the light banter, pushing his earlier question back into the box he kept all persistent thoughts in before countering Ford's argument with a wave of the hand that had indeed narrowly missed becoming a fish monkey's lunch.

"Whatever, I saw it coming."

"I'm sure," Ford intoned, coming to stand beside Stan to show him what he'd been doing whilst the other had been cleaning Fiji scales, hair, and blood off the rails, scraping the latter thing into one of the glass vials he must have taken when Ford wasn't looking.

Stan perked up immediately as he read what his brother had already managed to write up for the little demon fish, chuckling under his breath whenever he caught a dry comment Ford had put down without thinking (and contrary to his twin's beliefs, he did that frequently). If there was one thing he'd always secretly, and sometimes not-so-secretly, admired about his brother, it was his ability to observe so much in a small amount of time and be able to jot it all down in the space of a few minutes.

To give life to words even though they were typically seemingly boring accounts of encounters with the unknown, and to keep his audience enthralled... It was something he'd good-naturedly teased Ford about when they were young, but even then, he'd thought it amazing.

"What?"

Stan jolted out of his sentimental thoughts to realize he was wearing an almost fond smile that had Ford giving him a curious look. "S'nothing," Stan easily slid his expression to something more "him" and rolled his eyes, "Just can't believe one of my stupid taxidermy creations turned out to be a real thing."

That got a genuine smile from Ford and Stan felt his mood improved drastically in spite of his disappointment with the other's avoidance. It seemed so hard to get Ford truly happy as of late -what with him being in a constant state of paranoid hyper-awareness- so when he actually managed it Stan felt like he could take down every creature in the ocean.

"I told you it was." Ford shook his head, smile still in place as he took the vial that Stan had filled a quarter of the way with Fiji Monkey blood when he'd realized Ford would likely want to study it. Of course the collecting had been an afterthought Stan had when cleaning, so sadly he had not grabbed any other pieces of the creatures.

That didn't seem to bother Ford though, who was holding the glass to the sunlight and swirling the contents carefully. Stan was less focused on the blood, though, and more on the distant look in his brother's eyes, like he was looking at the vial but his mind was a thousand miles away. He wondered what Ford was thinking about and then whether or not he should ask, but didn't get the chance to really do either because his twin seemed to sense his stare and a moment later Ford was frowning at him.

"What is it?"

"Huh? Oh, nothing."

Stan tried to keep his nervous shifting at minimum when Ford didn't immediately give a reaction, but wasn't sure he managed it, seeing as how Ford eyed him carefully, as if unsure what he expected Stan to say or do next. It frustrated the man to no end when he couldn't figure out what was running through Ford's brain, because it meant his brother's thoughts were either going too fast for even him to comprehend or he was thinking about things he'd yet to bring into the light… or Stan was starting to lose it again and the once easy to read micro expressions of his brother's face were becoming foreign concepts.

Stan didn't think that last one was it though, because the memory lapses usually felt different; one minute things were there and the next they weren't because everything became a jumbled mess. It wasn't progressive, it was sudden and terrifying.

It was moments like these that left Stan wishing he knew even a fraction of what life had been like for his brother over the past 40 years. All he had to go off of were his experiences from their youth and small snippets Ford had shared about his time in Gravity Falls, which wasn't helpful when everything Ford did and said now had a weight to it that Stan always didn't recognize or understand in the way he knew he should.

Whatever had happened to his brother in the time they'd spent apart had turned him into the person he was today as much as his own experiences had molded him, which was disconcerting at times when Ford reacted strangely (badly) to certain things and Stan had no clue how to help him. Sure, he could draw on his own experiences and what he'd wished people had done for him, but it was difficult, bordering on impossible, to help Ford when he knew none of the important aspects about his life that would help all the puzzle pieces click into place.

It was frustrating and alarming and disheartening all at the same time.

"Are you feeling alright?"

Stan jumped a little when Ford's voice cut through his thoughts and he leaned against the nearby railing quickly in an attempt to hide the movement. Yeah, he'd meant to do that.

The man looked away from his brother and focused on the endless expanse of ocean instead, doing his best to avoid what he was sure would be Ford's scrutinizing gaze. He didn't want to tell Ford there was anything wrong, because while there was something his twin could do to fix it, he wouldn't, and Stan knew that so there was no point in saying anything. Instead he answered his brother's inquiry without thinking, his mind falling back on his prepared answers for that line of questioning and his mouth following.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" Ford's skeptical tone let Stan know he wasn't buying the lie for a second and he tried not to groan at what that could mean for him. Stan didn't want to talk to his brother about what was bothering him because he didn't want Ford getting upset with him, how hard was it to just accept that?

"Yeah Sixer, I'm positive."

" _Stan_ ley."

He rolled his eyes at the stern tone Ford took, as if Stan was still a child who could be made to speak the truth just because someone said his name with a hint of prodding exasperation in their tone. The fact that Ford actually thought that was going to work had an irritated huff coming from Stan, and before he could think about it his mouth was running ahead of him. "If you answered maybe once when I asked about the Portal, that'd be great."

As soon as the words left him Stan regretted them. He could see Ford's walls go back up almost instantaneously as a deep frown marred his face, shoulders tensing almost imperceptibly. Stan winced internally and wanted to smack himself. He hadn't meant to say that- had been determined to leave it be. He didn't need to upset his brother now! He had to take it back, make a joke of it before Ford could take him seriously. The man was about to do that when Ford cut his smart remark short.

"Why do you want to know so badly?"

 _Just leave it!_ Stan's mind screamed. _Leave it, don't start an argument. Leaveitleaveit **L** **EAVE IT!**_

"'Cuz I kinda wanna know about that part of your life? 'Cuz I care?"

 _ **SHUT UP!**_

Ford scoffed, the sound carrying his obvious disbelief well enough and leaving Stan wishing they would just stop talking about this and go to a different topic. Now. Anything would have been better than this, and even though the man knew there was no backing out of it, Stan still kept looking for some kind of exit, some sort of backspace button that could stop the fight threatening to erupt with each word passed between them.

"You really want to know something about it, fine. One time I found myself in a dimension where memories were given as currency, the older and more personal, the higher their worth. I didn't attempt to purchase anything and left as soon as I was able, and do you know why? Because I hold the belief that someone's memories belong to them and nobody else, and they shouldn't be forced into sharing those for any reason that isn't their choosing."

Ford's clipped speech and glare left Stan with the knowledge that he really needed to leave it be then, that his brother felt the same discomfort and was trying to give him another out, a chance to drop it. And Stan wanted to, he really did, but Ford's hostile tone had sent his own defensive wall up, and if there was one thing Stan knew about himself even when he couldn't remember all, it was that when it came to fight or flight instincts, he only truly had "fight".

Even while his brain screamed at him to not say a word, to just take Ford's thinly veiled message and leave him be for the rest of the day because his twin had not been trying to start anything, the rest of Stan couldn't stop from jumping to his own defense.

"Well jeez, Sixer, I'm sorry for trying understand you! I'm sorry I'm not a certain yellow triangular mind reader who automatically knows what's wrong with you and why!"

Ford looked absolutely appalled by the mention of Bill and he faltered when he threw his weak rebuttal at Stan.

"Nothing is wrong with me."

"That's such bullshit, Sixer-"

" _Stop_ calling me that!" Ford roared and Stan took an involuntary step back, his hands instinctively going up to to protect himself. Ford didn't notice as he continued, his momentary hesitation forgotten in his anger.

"Maybe I don't want you in my head like a "certain yellow triangular mind reader", did that ever occur to you? Maybe I don't want _anyone_ in my head! Maybe I don't want to tell you anything and you are going to have to accept that."

"Right," Stan rolled his eyes, heart thudding loudly in his chest as he realized the negative affect his next words would have even as he couldn't stop himself saying them, "I forgot only he was ever allowed to know what was going on with you."

That was it. Of all the horrible things he could've said, Stan knew that was the worst. Bringing Cipher into this, so soon after Ford had opened up and shared nearly every detail of how the two had come to know each other, had disaster written all over it.

Stan watched Ford's eyes grow impossibly wide as he sputtered, his hands clenching and relaxing before finally settling into tight fists, his expression darkening as rage and hurt pooled into a venomous hiss.

"Fuck you."

Ford was gone before Stan could fully process what had happened, disappearing into the cabin with the Fiji Monkey blood to no doubt bury himself in research as he was wont to do.

Stan wasn't sure how long he stood there, replaying the exchange over and over, but when he came back to himself, the sun was starting to set and the weight of everything that had been said hit him hard. Bile rose in his throat and he swallowed it quickly in order to let his thoughts escape in a strangled question addressed to himself. "What the _hell_ was that?!"

He could have said plenty of other things in reply that could have gotten the point across equally as well and not sent Ford spiraling into the place of bitter shame he always went when his affiliations with Bill were brought up in a harsh manner, but of course, like the screw-up he was, he hadn't.

He could have just asked why Ford didn't trust him enough to let him in. That would have made Ford stop and think, maybe even realize what his silence was doing to Stan and try to come up with a solution they could both be happy with. Ford had a reputation of making things better for everyone after all. In fact, nowadays he always put others first… well, almost always… he tried to, anyway. Stan shook his head, the physical motion helping to dispel old memories trying to pop up; now was not the time to think about Ford's past mistakes. The point still stood: Ford _rarely_ put himself before anyone else when he cared about them.

Yet Stan couldn't bring himself to do the same when it mattered. He never liked letting Ford keep things to himself, not even when it was for his own good, not even when Ford assured him it was best he didn't know; Stan had an innate need to _know_ everything about the people he cared for. It had always been a source of anxiety for him even in his youth, and after living on his own for so many years, the need to find out everything about everyone he came into contact with had only gotten worse, to the point where when he didn't he found it hard to sleep.

He often wondered if that had only been amplified when he'd gotten his memories back, because he needed to know what was going on and understand it, just to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything.

 _That's no excuse though_ , He reminded himself harshly. _You shouldn't have brought the demon into this._

"Idiot!" Stan slammed his fist into the wood beneath his hands and grit his teeth when the contact jarred all the way up to his elbow. Ford _had_ trusted him, he reminded himself too late. His brother had trusted him enough to divulge one of his closest secrets with the knowledge that Stan could have ridiculed or rejected him afterward, and he'd still done it. And how had he repaid Ford's small sliver of trust? He'd used it against him.

"Dammit," Stan hissed between clenched teeth.

The man could still vividly remember the night Ford had come clean about his past with Bill. It had been a few nights before they'd headed out to sea and Stan had re-remembered the triangular demon and asked how he'd even known Ford in the first place. Stan recalled how Ford had sat as far away from him as possible while recounting how they'd first met, how Ford had kept an eye on his reactions the entire time, fidgeting and expecting to be interrupted at every turn.

But Stan had stayed quiet through the whole ordeal, which hadn't been easy, as he'd been buzzing with questions. He'd known, though, that if he stopped his brother, Ford might not have made it through the entire story.

Even when Ford began diving into things that made his relationship with the dream demon sound more like a one-sided adoration than a friendship. And when he'd started stuttering through the part where the deal had been made to let Bill take control of his body whenever he pleased, Stan had found himself shifting in his seat, uncomfortable with how easy it had been for his brother to give himself up to someone like that when he had been able to hear the lies in Cipher's words when Ford repeated them. It only served to hammer home how much Ford had cared for and trusted the demon, and it hurt to hear.

Then Ford had described Bill's betrayal and a few puzzle pieces had slipped into place in Stan's mind as he became aware of just what had been going through his twin's head when he'd come to see him the night of the Portal Incident.

It had filled Stan with so much fury he'd wanted to bring the triangle back for the specific purpose of punching him again, and worse yet, it had struck a familiar chord in him, one he understood too well from his own experiences with betrayal, and when Ford had looked like he might cry -whether out of anger or pain Stan wasn't sure- he'd been quick to assure his brother that it was okay, he could stop.

Ford had taken the reprieve, his head dropping into his hands to avoid Stan's gaze as the man mulled over the information. It had explained most of Ford's paranoia and discomfort when people tried to get to know him better, true, but hadn't explained nearly enough, and it left Stan with more questions. It had been around that time when Stan started asking about what had gone on beyond the portal...

Ford had bared that part of himself to him, though, and… and…

 _And you used it against him. How could you? (See if he ever trusts you like that again)_

"Shit," Stan muttered, already making his way towards the cabin before he even registered his feet were moving. He hadn't a clue what he was going to say to his brother, but he did know he'd better make it good, and that there had to be an apology thrown in there somewhere. A sincere one.

Well, of course it would be sincere, seeing as Stan _was_ sorry, but he had to figure out how to word it in such a way that Ford would know he wasn't just trying to make things better because he felt guilty (he did) or because he wanted Ford to stop being mad at him (he did).

The man stopped in front of the door, his hand frozen over the latch, apprehension filling his veins with ice as he wondered how Ford might react to him coming in even though it was technically both of their space.

Would he tell Stan to get out the moment he stepped through the door? No, that wasn't really Ford's style (it was his). Would he pretend nothing had happened and let the unresolved anger fester? It _was_ something he'd done in the past (it was a nasty habit they both couldn't shake). Or maybe he would give Stan the silent treatment… Yeah, that one seemed the most likely when the man thought about the fact that Ford tried his best to hurt him when he was pissed. Nothing did that quite as well as treating Stan like he didn't exist.

Before he could lose his nerve Stan opened the hatch and stepped inside, closing it behind him as quietly as possible. As suspected, Ford was at his desk scribbling furiously into his newest journal and glancing occasionally at some of the blood he had placed under a small microscope, back deliberately to stairs Stan was descending. _This is gonna be harder than I thought._

Stan sighed, the tiny noise bouncing around the small interior and making the man wince.

"Hey," He tried, cursing inwardly at how strained the one word sounded and tried again. "Hey, are you okay?"

So… that was dumb. _Really dumb. Stupid way to start. Nice going, Idiot._

Ford didn't move or even seem to register he'd said anything, though, and Stan rolled his eyes even as a cold stone of fear settled in his gut.

He knew he deserved to be ignored for how insensitive he'd been- knew bringing up Bill had probably felt like another little betrayal to Ford, but he also knew he couldn't do this. He couldn't have Ford not talking to him, he needed his brother talking to him; without Ford's words to ground him and let him know everything was real and all right and safe who knew how long it would be before he had another episode.

But what if Ford wasn't going to accept his apology and was planning on kicking him off at their next stop? What if-

"Did you get any blood on you?"

Stan's thoughts came crashing to a halt, his mind becoming a jumbled ball of confusion as he was thrown through a loop. His heart, however, was attempting to make him giggle the tense energy away when relief that Ford wasn't giving him the silent treatment after all swept through him. He was still having trouble figuring out what his brother meant by that, though, as the question didn't seem to make much sense to him, having been so out of the blue.

Ford didn't bother waiting for him to voice his uncertainty and elaborated further, keeping his tone level and cold, more like the person Stan remembered before Weirdmageddon. "The Fiji Monkey blood has high toxic chemical readings in its plasma. If it's on your skin it won't end well.

Stan checked himself over immediately without hesitation; even in a state where he was sure Ford would toss him into the sea given the chance, he still trusted his brother's intellect over all else, and if it said he could be harmed he wouldn't question it.

Once satisfied none of the bodily fluid was on his skin, Stan looked back at Ford, his answer frozen in his throat when he saw his twin staring back, eyes purposely closed off as he gave him a once-over, nodding to himself. "No. Good."

Ford turned away again to jot down more notes and Stan realized he might have spoken too soon. It was funny, but over the years Stan had noticed there were ways people could give silent treatment without being completely silent themselves; Stan remembered Mabel's instance easily, pretending he didn't exist while still replying to what he said to her, just in the form of speaking to someone else. Ford seemed to be trying out the one in which Stan would never be able to get a word in because his brother would continually find reasons to cut him off. _Real mature._

However that knowledge didn't stop Stan from trying, aware that if and when Ford interrupted he could at least talk over him. Nobody could unhear things after all. His brother could cut him off and not speak to him to his heart's content, but he would still have to listen, no matter how much he didn't want to.

"Ford, I-"

"Next time try to capture one so I can-"

"I know you're not gonna want to hear this, but just-"

"I wasn't able to get a clean sketch done-"

"Just hear me ou-"

"You need to stop being so-"

Never mind, he couldn't ignore it.

" _Dammit Sixer, listen to me!_ "

The small flinch Ford tried to hide made Stan wish he'd used a softer volume even as the voice in his head told him to keep going because he'd at least gotten his twin to shut up.

"Look, you and I both know I'm not good at this sorta thing, but I'm tryin'. So just… listen. Please." Stan hesitated adding the last part but knew he ought to show Ford he was being sincere, since his brother knew how much Stan abhorred that word, and even if he didn't turn his way Stan knew he'd gotten Ford's attention.

"I know I crossed the line, bringing him into it. I shouldn't have said anything. I-I _am_ sorry, S- Ford. You probably don't believe me, but I am. I shouldn'ta said that when you trusted me… and I just want you to know that. Uh…" Stan shook his head, frustration towards himself building up when he saw his words didn't seem to have any effect on Ford. He hated how bad he was at this sometimes.

When it came to random tourists, or Soos and Wendy, or even the twins, Stan could talk his own ears off convincing them of anything; with a few well placed sentences he could help Mabel feel like the summer ending wasn't the end of the world and Dipper realize he wasn't a loser just because he couldn't get the girl. He could get the people of Gravity Falls to believe anything he said too, which wasn't always easy.

So why couldn't he stop talking in circles when he was with his own _brother_? Sure, they'd had their differences, and sure things between them weren't perfect, and he was nervous but… he thought he'd at least be able to do something like this. _Lies and pretty words can only take you so far._

Stan knew that, of course he did, but as he'd really grown up and learned deceit kept you safe, telling the truth became more difficult than anything, even when it meant lying to those he loved the most. This time, even though he was being truthful, he was getting nowhere. He needed to give Ford more to work with, and he knew that, but he was desperately looking for a way out of it, even as he knew there would be none. There never usually was when it came to Ford. _Damn_.

"I don't know where that came from, okay? I was going for something to upset you, I guess." Stan looked down before he could see Ford turn his way.

"I s'pose that worked, heh. But no. I… Dammit, I'm an ass, right? That's what it comes down to, Ford. I was mad 'cuz you keep holding out on me and I said that 'cuz I'm an idiot and an asshole. You already knew that, but I'm just lettin' you know I know it too. But I didn't wanna _hurt_ you. I never wanted to hurt you. I shouldn't have said any of those things. I'm sorry. I really am-"

"If you say you're an idiot one more time I will throw this blood on you."

The murmur might as well have been an echoing shout for the way it sent his heart slamming against his ribs, relief that Ford spoke to him and not his general direction without that stomach churning indifference making him release a shaky breath. Stan lifted his head in time to see Ford dropping his legs to the floor and stand up, taking his journal with him.

"You're not an idiot, Stan. You say stupid things, but you're not an idiot."

Stan moved to the side when Ford got close, giving him space to pass and head onto deck when his eyes flicked to the exit. The fact that his brother had been willing to give him a chance to speak and had then replied in his own Fordsy fashion made Stan relax enough to not fear repercussion when he decided to follow his twin out.

There wasn't much else he could say now at this point, but Stan wasn't about to let Ford be alone when he hadn't heard anything that could hint towards forgiveness, or at the very least, them being okay again. Stan knew it always took Ford a while to let things go, and he wasn't expecting the man to act as if nothing happened when the wounds weren't even a day old, but he did know if Ford thought things would eventually be fine again he would give Stan something more to work with.

The sun was nearly swallowed by the horizon when Stan closed the hatch again and came to stand at his brother's side, glancing at Ford from the corner of his eye. The sea air ruffled his hair gently and Stan squashed the urge to reach over and muss it further, not sure Ford would appreciate the gesture just yet.

On the bright side, Ford wasn't making any attempt to shift away from his presence, even if he also didn't acknowledge Stan's being there. But that was typically normal for them so it wasn't alarming, and Stan was nothing if not an optimist.

Ford glanced down at the open journal in his hands, flipping lazily through the pages, proofreading no doubt, and Stan let him have a moment since he knew the man was thinking about more than just the possible errors in his studies. The silence was as uncomfortable for Stan as it was natural for Ford and the younger twin tried not to break it, reminding himself every time a word to say popped into his head that he had to give Ford some type of space.

As if hearing his inner turmoil, Ford closed the book and tilted his head so their eyes met. "Yes?"

"Sorry," Stan blurted out again, though what he was apologizing for that time he wasn't sure. It just felt appropriate. Ford got it at least and nodded slowly, looking back out at the calmly swirling sea.

"I know. I am too."

Stan opened his mouth to tell his brother he didn't have to be, that he hadn't mentioned Bill so he had nothing to be sorry for, but Ford cut him off before he could.

"I shouldn't have pushed you. I just got… worried. I thought you might have been experiencing another amnesic episode and I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"I told you I was."

"I know, but you were lying."

"Wha- no I wasn't!"

"Stan."

Ford leveled a stare at him that dripped with unimpressed annoyance, and even if there was some hesitant worry behind the gesture Stan could tell Ford was making an effort to keep him away from whatever was bugging him even now. It hurt, but he wasn't about to let Ford know that, considering now his brother had reason to not want to share personal information with him.

Even so Stan knew he still needed to give Ford something.

"Fine, fine. As I said earlier, I was getting mad at you. You keep… ignoring me when I ask things you don't exactly like. And I get why you don't wanna talk about it," Stan added hastily when Ford looked about ready to jump to his own defense again, "which was why I didn't wanna get into it with you. I get you have secrets, same as me. But- wait, no. No, that's all." ( _But I wish you could just trust me already. Even if I don't deserve it now.)_

Ford was frowning again and this time Stan knew he was contemplating whether or not he wanted to ask where he'd been going with the "but", and he didn't stop him. Cutting Ford off when he was thinking hadn't been a good idea when they were kids, and it certainly wasn't a now. He didn't want to push his luck; the fact that Ford was back to talking with him so easily already left him on edge. So unless those thoughts were leading him down a dangerous path, Stan felt it best he leave his brother to it.

"Stanley," Ford started slowly and Stan made sure to pay close attention, knowing the man never spoke at this pace unless he was mulling the words over as he said them, "I… I can't tell you what you want to know. Not now and… maybe not ever. You wouldn't like- you wouldn't look- augh, it doesn't matter anymore. It's in the past now, and it's not important."

Stan bit his tongue to keep from calling "bullshit" and instead nodded to make his twin aware he had been listening. He didn't bother feigning he was fine with the news because they both knew he wasn't, but no matter how upset he was, Stan knew he couldn't fault Ford for not wanting to tell him; he'd screwed up horribly today and it was going to take time for his twin to want to share anything now.

Besides, there were plenty of things in his own past he didn't wanted Ford to find out about and it would be hypocritical to expect his twin to not have moments like those in his own life too. _The only difference is, if he ever asked, you'd probably tell him. Wouldn't you?_

Stan ignored the voice, having grown used to the harsh truth it spilled a while ago. Yes, it was true he'd tell his brother about those less than unsavory things if Ford ever asked, but he knew that unless the situation warranted it, Ford never would. After that he'd insist on a mutual give. And since Ford made it clear he would probably never want to share any unpleasant parts of his life, Stan would never be expected to share any part of his.

He chose to ignore the disappointment that sprung up with the knowledge.

* * *

 **A/N:** _ **Could they have handled that better? Yes. Yes they could've.**_

 _ **Am I going to make it easy for them? No. Why... Why would I?**_

 _ **Hope you enjoyed! Chapter two should be up within a week at the latest. I'll just have to kick my beta in the butt. ;)**_


	2. Security Of'en A Fallacy

**A/N: _What's this? An update on schedule? Wooooow... Yes, the salt is real. Haha! This one was fun for me! I hadn't realized how much I enjoyed writing Ford before this. :)  
_** _ **Big thanks to my little sister and Beta:**_ **Frozen Under Winter's Touch**

* * *

 **Security Of'en A Fallacy**

The days that followed that conversation were uneventful, with Ford discussing with his brother what supplies they would need once they stopped in the nice seaside town of Tofino, British Columbia, where the various items Gravity Falls didn't have were located, if his memory served him correctly (and it always did).

Stan had actually suggested a lot of logical things to assist on their trip and listened when Ford told him of a few specific things to be on the lookout for so that he could make a few extra magic barriers around the Stan'O'War II, which left both twins feeling more relaxed around the other again, even if there was some residual tension and upset neither attempted to address.

It wasn't always easy to get back into the groove of things after a fallout in communications, however brief, and this case was no exception, especially where Ford was concerned. Although it wasn't as bad as some of the ones preceding it, which came as a surprise and a relief to the man.

Ford supposed it had something to do with how quickly Stan had come to apologize this time, which was something everyone and their dog knew was a rare occurrence for his brother. Getting Stan to admit he was wrong about something was like pulling teeth, so when he came running to say he was sorry it was extremely difficult to stay bitter towards him. And if Ford was going to be honest with himself, it didn't altogether matter how angry he got with his brother or why, because Stan could hurt and vex him left and right and Ford would end up forgiving him eventually. Stanley would do the same for him after all- had more times than he could count. It was comforting to know that no matter what he'd done during and before their trip thus far, Stan wasn't judging him.

For the first couple weeks Ford had been terrified of letting his brother know he had been having any problems readjusting to the world, and while doing so now still set him on edge, he could do it because he knew that somehow Stan got it.

It had taken even longer to talk about his affiliation with Bill Cipher, but even now, after his twin had unthinkingly used it against him and dug up old feelings of betrayal, Ford felt at peace with his past decisions, because at least now Stan knew. And recent events aside, his brother had never pushed too hard, never told Ford he was being irrational (even when he himself knew he was), never tried to belittle him when the panic dug too deep and left him huddled in a dark corner, growling like an animal whilst Stan tried to calm him down and convince him to come out.

Stan just… accepted everything about him, good and bad, weird and weirder, as if nothing had ever happened between them even when there was a silent understanding that there was a difference between forgiving and forgetting.

Stan was the one person Ford could always turn to, the one who tried to never make snap judgements (which always struck him as entertaining, considering how his brother jumped down other people's throats within seconds normally), always listened to his stories up to the end before asking questions (unless something wasn't making sense with the way Ford worded it, but that was just Stanley), always helped him, always… well, took care of him, even when Ford had been at his worst around the house. And he never showed any resentment for it.

Stan was the only person he could truly trust when Dipper and Mabel weren't around, and Ford knew that… but he also knew everyone had a snapping point; a spot where they drew the line and if anyone crossed it, that was it, they were done. Stan continually edged close to his, but somehow knew when to step back before he could toe over every time. That meant his brother was aware of what set Ford off and what didn't, though, which gave him the advantage over the older twin in that aspect of life, because Ford had no idea where Stan's was.

In this case, though… Ford didn't need to know in order to be aware that if he were to answer the one question his brother had asked numerous times (albeit in different, sometimes creative ways), that would be it. He would cross over Stan's invisible line and Ford would never be able to look him in the eye again. Stanley would never look at him the same way, and all the progress they'd made would be for naught.

Because Stanley didn't understand, and Ford wasn't about to fault him for that. It was good, actually, that Stan knew so much and yet so little about him that he'd been unable to figure out the things Ford was hiding.

His brother was indeed intelligent, more intelligent than Ford would ever have guessed. That was one of the first things he'd had begrudgingly admitted after coming out of the Portal after 30 years and finding Stan had redone everything by himself, even before Dipper and Mabel had found the other two journals. His little brother was anything but stupid like everyone used to say growing up, but Ford still didn't think Stan would be able to grasp the concept, the enormity, of the things he was asking of him.

So he had said no, that it wasn't important. There hadn't been anything else he could think to tell Stan then, and he stood by that decision now, even when he knew it upset his brother. If Stan knew what Ford was saving him from, he would thank him. Nobody wanted to hear those things, even when they thought they did.

It was that resolution that had him able to brush off his chagrin whenever he caught Stan looking like he was having an internal battle with his curiosity and his respect for Ford's privacy. No, he didn't like having to keep secrets from his brother, but he also knew this was one of those things that had to be done for the greater good. Whatever nightmares plagued him as a result of that wouldn't compare to the abject horror that would be written across Stanley's face if he really knew the things he'd done to survive in the worlds beyond the portal. He wouldn't let his twin find out what he'd become. He had managed to keep that thing under wraps during Weirdmageddon and during his more recent bouts of flashbacks, somehow, and Ford was confident he could continue to do it the rest of his life if it meant protecting Stan. He didn't trust that side of himself anymore, it wasn't meant for a world like this.

As it stood, Stan was trying to leave it be and managing it well. His brother went back to his usual self, teasing Ford about his reckless nerdiness whenever he had to be dragged away from an anomaly that may or may not have been trying to kill them because he'd been intent on studying as much of it as he could. With that light-hearted banter came the return of a calm atmosphere they both had sorely missed, and the knowledge that dry land was going to be added to the mix soon left both of them in much higher spirits.

Ford still wasn't sure if all in regards to their argument had been completely forgiven, but seeing the hurt and honest, gut wrenching remorse on his brother's face when he'd apologized had made it hard for him to stay mad. It helped that he didn't want to be upset with his brother too, knowing his words, no matter how much pain they'd caused, had come from Stan's own well of hurt that _Ford_ had unintentionally caused, had helped the man come to his senses faster.

Everything was starting to look up again, because after the incident at the end of the summer he'd realized how stupid and petty it was to hold grudges. It was a hard habit to break, but one he'd found easier and easier to leave behind every time Stan upset him (which was frequently) and he had to forgive him and let it go.

At least now Stan was acting like his typical self, no longer walking on eggshells around him while simultaneously trying to doing whatever he could to have Ford feeling better -something he always seemed to do when he was feeling guilty-, which admittedly, meant he was only a little less funny and a whole less skittish.

Ford actually preferred him that way. He still appreciated the efforts, though, feeling equal parts annoyed and wistful every time as it reminded him of the days of bunkbeds and school bullies, when the two of them had still managed to get on the others nerves despite the fact that they never really had any friends outside each other, so fighting was counterproductive, leaving them running back to apologizing within the space of a few hours, or in the bad cases, days.

"Hey, earth to Nerd. What're you smiling about?"

Ford hadn't even noticed his mouth had shifted without his permission or that Stanley had been so close, staring at him intently. The man gave a noncommittal shrug and pushed away from the railing he'd been leaning against in order to go check on the navigation panel, not wanting to divulge his inner musings at the moment and needing to see how things were doing anyway.

They could see land approaching swiftly, but Ford still felt the need to make sure they were headed to the correct place, even if Stan was adamant that it didn't matter what tiny town they ended up in so long as he could get fed and take a shower. Ford knew his brother was technically right, but sometimes he just needed that kind of control in his life. Sometimes he needed to go to a specific part of Canada and make sure their craft listened, dammit. It didn't have to make sense to anyone except him.

"Hey! Poindexter, answer me."

Ford rolled his eyes, Stan's petulant demand coaxing another smile onto his face even as he released a long-suffering sigh that was sure to leave his brother squinting. "What is it, Stanley?"

"What's with the dopey smile?"

"Nothing, and it's not dopey."

"Pfft, sure," Stan smirked, coming over and throwing an arm around Ford's shoulders, "Anyway, how much longer we got?"

"Well, if you'd been listening earlier, you would know," Ford ducked out of his brother's reach to jab at a few buttons, ignoring Stanley's whine, "We have about an hour so long as the weather stays clear."

"Damn, I want it now!" Stan bemoaned, his voice muffling as he went below deck to no doubt grab something for lunch since he'd been complaining about an empty stomach earlier.

Ford would be grateful for something to eat too, considering his last meal had been dinner the night before. He'd skipped breakfast in favor of finishing up a journal entry while the information was still fresh in his head, and Stanley had glared at him disapprovingly the entire time while he pretended not to notice; his brother at least remembered to not make any attempts to stop his writing.

It had been a good entry, too, when Ford considered the fact that he hadn't expected to see anomalies so close to civilization, much less one belonging to the Merpeople. The Mermaid they'd encountered had indeed been a charming one, not at all like the stories prefered to depict her kind (it seemed Mabel was right about that), answering most of the questions Ford asked her without asking for any payment in return, and positioning herself in such a way he was able to get an accurate reference sketch done.

She'd told them the safest routes to take where the waters were calmest too, letting Stan flirt with her the entire time and even giving his brother a peck on the lips before she'd gone. Ford chuckled at the memory of how red Stan had gotten, realizing it had most likely been awhile since anyone had laid one on his twin. Yes, she certainly had not been what either of the men expected.

 _Galene..._ Enchanting.

"... Yeah, so all we have are crackers and beans, and I don't know about you, but I'm already tired of beans."

"And it hasn't even been a month yet," Ford sighed. "Stanley, you're the one who insisted we take so many, because they were "something nobody could ever get bored of"."

Stanley shrugged and ripped open a packet of aforementioned crackers, handing a few to Ford before stuffing one in his mouth. "Eh, I lied. Y'really shouldn't be surprised by that still."

Ford rolled his eyes even as he nodded. He really _should_ have known his brother would complain about the food, considering he groused about everything else he had assured he would be fine with, like the numerous devices Ford had brought with them that took up much of their cabin space whenever they were taken out for use. Yes, Stanley was nothing if not a whiner when he wanted to be.

"Well, it's a good thing we will have access to a store then, isn't it?"

* * *

Once the ship had been brought in and the brothers had gotten onto land once more, Stanley had insisted they go to the nearest joint and get something to eat, an idea Ford had to admit he found more enticing with every step they took towards the diner his twin had pointed out.

Greasy food hadn't been something Ford had particularly enjoyed during his younger days, but after his "attitude adjustment period" he'd become a lot less picky, and actually found he _liked_ the meals he'd once labeled disgusting. Thankfully his eating habits hadn't been one of the things Stan remembered with perfect clarity, so when they sat down and Ford ordered a burger along with his brother he got no strange looks.

There were actually a lot of little things about him that Stan didn't remember clearly. Not that Ford was complaining, because in some ways it made life easier since Stanley didn't know how he like and reacted to certain things anymore. Though, what was lost because of time and what was lost because they were just simple things that hadn't made it back after the memory wipe, Ford wasn't sure. The good thing was that anything he had forgotten was never a subject labelled as "important".

The entire time they ate the twins stayed quiet, enjoying the companionable silence for the time being instead of trying to fill it with redundant conversation about what they needed to do now that they were here. They'd already gone over the plan a few times now and Ford could tell Stan was as tired of hearing it as he was saying it.

After the meal the two had searched around for a place to stay, finally agreeing on a motel close to the docks after several minutes of "discussing" the pros and cons of their choices. The place was decent enough, as far as cheap establishments went.

Once checked in, the brothers went about their business, with Stanley washing up first while Ford made sure all the locks worked, proceeding to add some extra security to them when he decided they weren't completely satisfactory (you couldn't be too careful nowadays). Afterwards, Stanley went to watching TV while Ford took his turn to shower.

Which was how he found himself standing in front of the small mirror in the room they'd paid for, brushing out his hair and cursing the salt air of the past week for making it curl so much. Stanley's content sigh when he stretched out on one of the beds reached his ear and made him chortle, glad his brother was enjoying himself.

"See? Told ya this was a good idea."

Ford hummed under his breath in affirmation as he set the brush down and went over to where Stan was, plopping down heavily beside him and nudging the man with his knee. "Now we have to get supplies, though."

"Nah, we can do that tomorrow."

Stan rolled onto his back and draped an arm over his eyes as he spoke, which had Ford resisting the childish urge to push him off the bed. Instead he got to his feat in order to turn off the TV his twin had left on since he wasn't watching it anyway. Stanley shot up then to glare at him.

" _Hey_ , I was-"

"Come on, Stan," Ford said, ignoring his brother's protests as he grabbed the room keys and Stanley's wallet, "You said you would help, and the sooner we do this, the sooner you can relax. So get up."

The man grumbled loudly but got to his feet in the end, and Ford kept his snickers to a minimum, though, only to avoid being smacked. A tired Stan was always a grumpy Stan, and normally Ford would've left him alone, but he knew his brother wasn't truly ready for sleep yet and the moment he quit whining he'd be fine.

Ford led them outside where the sun was still in the sky and people, tourists and natives alike, milled about. The smell of salt and fish was everywhere but neither brother noticed, having been at sea long enough already to have grown accustomed to the scents. Stanley stopped his griping instantly as Ford had known he would, more intent on looking around and figuring out where everything was than annoying his twin.

Ford did his best to ignore the bodies around them as he and Stan made their way down the street, but doing so became increasingly difficult when they frequently bumped into him by accident or seemed to let their eyes linger too long.

Ford felt his jaw clench tighter and tighter every time something like that happened and he had to force his unease down after a time, knowing it would do no good to grow agitated when there was no real reason. Logically he understood that after 30 years of relative solitude it made sense to be reacting this way to crowds, especially when he factored in how long it had taken to get used to the small population of Gravity Falls, but the frustrated part of him wished he could just be fine with it already. It had been long enough that people shouldn't bother him this much, right?

Besides, it had been his idea to head out. He had to see it through if for no other reason than the fact that he was stubborn… and didn't want to have Stanley knowing he still wasn't completely back to his "usual" self- whatever that was supposed to mean.

However, when he had to suppress a shudder after catching someone staring at him ( _That was just a trick of the light. Calm down_ ) Ford began to wonder why he'd been so adamant about getting supplies _now_ instead of waiting until dark. Why _hadn't_ he let Stan nap and waited for there to have been fewer civilians out so they could go about their business faster, without having to look over their shoulders? _But you don't have to do that. Nobody is out to get you. Relax._

Ford wanted to listen to that voice, knew it was right and reasonable, but it was still hard, because no matter how ridiculous, he couldn't shake off the feeling that he was being watched by someone or something that he couldn't see no matter how hard he looked.

A sharp tug at his sweater made Ford's attention snap to check behind him, posture stiffening immediately before he realized it was only Stanley and nobody else. Just his brother getting his attention after he'd likely taken notice of his darting, suspicious gaze. Just Stan. Everything was fine.

His brother was pointing out a little building advertising food products as well as various sailing equipment, as nearly every establishment in the town sold, and he suggested they start there to see if any of the ingredients to the "magic science stuff" was available. Ford relaxed with the small gesture along with the reassurance that nobody was trying to attack him.

Stanley's idea also allowed Ford to bring himself back onto the task at hand, which served to ease the distress that had been rising in his chest. The man gave a tight, thankful smile that Stanley was quick to shrug off, the unspoken "don't worry about it" evident in the gesture.

As soon as they stepped into the store Ford felt himself breathe easier and he immediately pulled out the supply list he'd made earlier in the day, burying his mind in its quest to find the needed ingredients for his spells.

Stan seemed to notice how engrossed he'd become in the task, since he walked off to the other end of the aisle, putting cans of soup and other various non-perishables into a small cart he'd grabbed, as Ford knew he would. He stood far off enough that Ford could think but close enough that he wouldn't worry about his brother's whereabouts.

He appreciated the efforts Stanley took to calm him and he briefly entertained the idea of going over and telling him what he was on the lookout for, but decided against it rather quickly; not only was he going to take the social reprieve his twin was granting him, but he was going to assume Stanley remembered the items he'd told him to be on the lookout for. Stan wasn't stupid.

* * *

When they finally exited the store with roughly half the things they'd been looking for, the sun was setting and Ford seemed more like himself again, suggesting with bright eyes that once they'd dropped their purchases back at the motel they should go further into town and see some of the sights.

Unfortunately for his brother, all Stan wanted to do was go to the bar and take a breather. He hadn't told Ford, but sleep had been evading him since their fight, which left him in a constant flux state of being exhausted but not being able to stay asleep and being over-tired to the point he had jitters that prevented sleep. It shouldn't have been that big a deal, but Stan couldn't stop berating himself whenever he was left alone with his thoughts. He hated being such a screw up and knowing he had nobody else to blame but himself. But, he supposed that was just life; he ruined everything, so he shouldn't have been surprised.

It wasn't helping any when the fact that he'd been feeling uncomfortable about their stopping before they'd even stepped onto the docks of the town was added to the picture. Why he felt that way, Stan had no clue, but when paired with his lack of rest it was starting to take it's toll on both his physical health and mental stability (he could practically feel the next flashback). However, with the knowledge that they wouldn't be staying long and Ford had placed alarms and extra locks in the motel room to keep them safe, Stan was sure he could get a couple hours shuteye at the very least… that is, if he some alcohol in his system to help relax his mind first.

He knew it wasn't something he could make habit of again, but just one night wouldn't hurt.

Still, the uneasy feeling persisted, and it was strange, but ever since they'd left the diner earlier that day Stan swore he felt eyes watching them, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Every time he looked around, though, he never saw anyone who appeared to wish them any ill will.

The paranoid feeling was beginning to grate on his psyche, and though Ford hadn't noticed yet, Stan was sure if the night went on like this he would, which meant the sooner he got a drink and calmed down, the better it would be for both of them.

He said nothing to Ford, though, knowing he was probably just being silly and not wanting to add unneeded stress to his twins plate. He kept quiet on their way to their motel instead, content to listen to his brother make plans and answer his own questions seconds after he asked them, the words blurring together until all Stan really heard was the changing tones.

Focusing on Ford helped to soothe the anxiety that had him looking over his shoulder every couple of minutes to search for something that wasn't there, and Stan didn't realize how wrapped up in his twin's voice he'd become until Ford was opening the door to their room and he realized he hadn't even registered entering the building.

"... And so we'll just leave everything here and go back out. Does that sound good?"

"Wha- yeah sure, sounds like a plan."

Stan shot out the reply only to mentally smack himself a moment later when he remembered what "going back out" meant in Ford's eyes. He set his bags down on the otherwise empty desk by the window and added to his answer before his brother could say anything further, "But, I was thinking bar instead of more stores. Whaddya think?"

Ford sent him a look that told Stan exactly what he thought about the suggestion and the younger twin quickly continued, hoping reasoning it out might convince Ford it was a good idea.

"I mean, we've been movin' around all day. I was just thinkin' it might be nice to just, y'know, take the night off."

His brother narrowed his eyes and Stan resisted the urge to retract the idea. He knew Ford was just mulling it over in his mind, weighing the pros and cons before he gave a response, but he wished for just once the man could say something without having to concern himself with every little detail. It wasn't hard. Did he want to go, yes or no?

"Okay."

Stan jumped, not having expected the answer so soon and so perfectly timed with his thoughts, as if his brother had read his mind. He was pretty sure Ford had seen the startled movement, given that he was staring at him with a smallest look of concern, and Stan slapped on a smile before the man could ask about it.

"Great! Let's go then."

Without waiting to see if Ford was following behind, Stan headed out, not needing to pay attention to where he went because he felt confident that, even though he could only remember spotting the place once during their entire time there, he knew exactly where he was going. It was almost like he'd visited that bar before, which Stan shook his head at because he would remember something like that, considering everything from his life had flooded back into his mind a few months back. _Then again… a bar is trivial enough that I might have remembered it and just don't remember remembering it. Ugh, don't think like that, it's confusing._

How he knew or not didn't matter in the end for Stan when the next corner they turned revealed a neon sign in the window of the sought out establishment that blinked blue and red with the word "Open". He smirked at his navigation skills and threw an arm around Ford's shoulders as they walked through the small parking lot and into the building, his mask of being perfectly fine and happy slipping on easily with the promise of spirits close.

"Mmm, smell that, Ford?"

"Body odor and intoxication?"

Stan laughed at his brother's deadpan humor and released his hold on him. "Not sure how you can smell intoxication, but sure!"

There weren't many people in the bar, but that was to be expected on a Wednesday since most responsible adults were likely still at work or just getting off. Still, there were enough that Ford and Stan didn't feel awkward just standing in the middle of the room laughing before they got to the counter and Stan ordered them some bourbon.

He remembered Ford mentioning a few weeks back that he hadn't had any in a long time, and by now Stan knew that "a long time" translated to "30 plus years", which was not acceptable in his eyes.

"So, what's put you in a good mood?" Stan turned to his brother and Ford shrugged a shoulder. "Nothing, as far as I'm aware. It's been a nice day."

"Heh, guess so," Stan agreed while accepting the drinks that were placed in front of them.

"What about you?"

"Huh?" Stan tilted his head, not following Ford's line of question.

"What put you in this mood?"

Stan resisted the urge to scowl at the way his twin had worded the question, aware that Ford likely had not meant to sound suspicious or accusing, and it had just been one of his reflex tones. He was probably referring to Stan's desire to come here instead of sleep like he'd been not-so-subtly hinting to earlier in the day, wanting to know what had made Stan change his mind. That was all. He was only working out what Stan was thinking. _Chill out._

"Nothin' much, just thought comin' here might be fun."

He took a sip from his tumbler and focused on the wall past Ford's shoulder so he wouldn't have to stare directly at his twin's skeptical expression. The man expected the next words from Ford to be along the lines of "what's wrong" or better yet "stop lying", but all Ford did was swirl the glass of liquid in his hand in a contemplative manner. Stan took his brother's momentary silence as an opportunity to toss the last of his drink back, the burn making him hiss a bit before ordering another.

A glance back in Ford's direction had Stan catching something akin to amusement in the older twin's eyes and he quickly narrowed his own in suspicion even as he tried to make a joke of it. "Why're ya lookin' at me like that? I got something on my face?"

"Enjoying yourself?"

Stan nodded, sure Ford took it as acknowledgement even though he'd been doing it towards his own thoughts; with that question coming from seemingly nowhere, Stan figured Ford must have been studying him, not unlike he would one of his anomalies or books, reading him to assess where the behavior was stemming from.

It meant his brother had noticed his off attitude even when he'd tried to hide it, and Stan wanted to face-palm over his loss of deception skills… or his inability to hide things from Ford. _Damn_. He hadn't meant to make it so obvious, since after all he was just being silly and fidgety from lack of proper sleep and his brother needn't have been concerned.

"This was a good idea, actually. Coming here," Ford said after the silence stretched a little too long, gesturing to the room around them with the glass Stan only now realized was empty. "It's rather relaxing. I wasn't expecting that.."

Stan snorted in spite of himself and Ford raised an eyebrow at the noise. "Mm, I was pretty surprised my first time coming here too."

"Here?"

"Ah, well, not here, here, just a bar in general."

"Gotcha," Ford inclined his head before processing what Stan had said. Then he straightened up on his stool a bit more, an affronted look on his face, "Wait a minute, this is _not_ my first time in a bar."

Stan snorted at that and reached over to punch his brother lightly in the shoulder. "I'll believe that when ya can finish more than one glass in ten minutes."

"Are you kidding me? Stanley, one glass is more than enough for the first ten minutes!"

"Shows what you know, Bar Virgin."

Stan bit his tongue to hold his laughter when Ford's face flushed and he started sputtering for several seconds before regaining control of his mouth.

"I am not a 'Bar Virgin'!" He hissed, unconsciously ducking lower in his seat as if the hunched posture would make it harder for people to hear. It was beyond hilarious, seeing his serious, brooding brother acting like a flustered teenager over the word "virgin".

"Pfft, sure, okay, Ford, I'll believe that… after ya tell me about your first time!"

"You're acting like a child."

"What was that? Didn't sound like a story."

If it was possible, his twin went redder and Stan doubled over, smacking the counter while his shoulders shook with silent mirth that left Ford glaring. The small twitch at the corner of his lips let Stan know he hadn't actually upset him though, which helped him to calm faster, wanting to hear what his twin had to say.

"It was in college. I was twenty-one-"

"Ugh, law abiding citizen! Lame!"

"Do you want to hear the story or not?"

Stan crossed his arms with a huff but quieted down so Ford would continue. After staring at him in a way that let Stan know if he interrupted again the story would be done, the man went back to his recounting of his younger days.

"As I was saying… Ah, right: I was twenty-one and finals week had just finished. Fiddleford-" Stan tilted his head, the name not ringing a bell immediately. "-Oh, right, Mcgucket…" Ford squinted at the use of the hillbilly's name, clearly not used to saying it as often, "He thought we deserved a break and suggested we celebrate the end of the school year with drinks. We went to a place downtown. I… got drunk… I don't really remember much of that night-"

"Holy shit, _you_ got plastered?!" Stan couldn't stop himself from blurting it out, the shocked disbelief evident in his voice. It made Ford roll his eyes. "That is what "drunk" is, yes. It shouldn't be so hard to bel- stop smiling like that!"

Stan shook his head, the shit-eating grin refusing to leave his face. At that point he wasn't sure he could remove it if he'd wanted to; it was just too good! His Sixer, wasted in the middle of town, probably having to be pulled back home by his buddy- it was hysterical!

That was, until the tables turned on him.

"What about you? When was your first time in a bar?"

Stan sobered in the blink of an eye, his defensive walls shooting up faster than they had in awhile. He played the change in demeanor off as best he could, tossing his head back and giving a short bark of laughter. "Jeez, Sixer I don't remember."

Anger flared behind Ford's eyes then, and while Stan knew it was caused by his accidental use of the childhood, Bill-tainted nickname, he still felt suddenly uncomfortable, and before he knew it he was fixing his answer. He didn't want Ford to be mad at him, and if that meant he had to throw a little truth out, he could. He'd just have to try and be as vague about it as he could manage.

"Alright, alright, I had just turned eighteen."

Stan checked to see Ford staring expectantly, waiting for more. When the man said nothing further his brother sighed in exasperation. "And?"

"And what? I was eighteen when I went into a bar for the first time."

"Oh come on, Stanley! I gave you more than that, extend the same courtesy."

Stan really didn't like his twin sometimes. He didn't _want_ to tell him where he'd been that first time, and knew if he tried to lie Ford would know. He could lie and make things up on the fly easily when it came to things like feelings, or why he'd woken up so early, or how he understood what his brother was talking about, but it was hard to stare Ford in the eye and lie; he knew most of his tells when it came to that sort of thing. _Argh! It isn't fair! Ford can keep everything from me, so why am I not allowed to keep anything away from him?!_

Stan knew why already but that didn't mean he liked the answer right at that moment.

 _Because you want to please him. You care about him and want him to trust you._

"Fine," Stan sighed, resignation ringing heavily in his words, "ya win. You remember that dive place just outside of town in… uh, Glass Shard Beach? That was my first bar experience."

Ford's eyes widened and Stan could understand why. After all, they hadn't gone over everything regarding their fallout from what felt like a lifetime ago. Apologized, sure. They'd both apologized till they were blue in the face, but they still hadn't heard everything, so this had probably felt like a little bombshell revelation to Ford. Stan could only hope his brother didn't catch what his being eighteen at that time meant, though how he wouldn't when he was so smart, Stan didn't know. _Wishful thinking?_

"You stayed in town… until our birthday?"

Yup. There it was. Stan rubbed the back of his neck, not wanting to have that conversation right now, yet at the same time knowing there wasn't a way out of it. Yet, anyway. He'd find one. The man cleared his throat awkwardly and stared at the tawny liquid in his glass intently just to avoid his brother's face. "Uh, no. I left for a little bit. Came back. Thought maybe I'd catch ya… you weren't home anymore."

"Oh."

"Yeah. Backupsmore. S'where ya were about then, right?"

Ford hummed faintly and the conversation fizzled out, leaving the brothers in an extremely uncomfortable silence for the second time that week just as Stan had known it would. He cursed inwardly at the stupidity of it all. They were grown - hell, _old_ \- men for pete's sake, they shouldn't have been letting the tension of decades passed make things weird. They should have been able to talk about it as casually as they would talk about the weather, yet here they were, silenced over the smallest mention of that area of their past.

It was _stupid_ but… they'd avoided talking about it whenever possible, not because it made them upset with each other like it used to, not even because it was a sore spot anymore (because the apologies _had_ made it better), but more because Stan didn't know what he was supposed to do now. He just had no clue where to begin or if Ford would even want him to. What was he supposed to say?

 _"Yeah, I stopped by, hoping you'd still be there, but it turns out you ran off without looking back like we'd always planned on doing together, so that's… yep._ " Again, they'd already said their 'sorrys' and Stan wasn't bitter about it anymore. So really, there was no need for Ford to be bothered by it. Yet he was...

"Stan-"

"Nonspecific excuse!"

Stan interrupted Ford, wincing apologetically when his brother twitched at the abrupt declaration but not taking his words back because he couldn't stay there. He knew Ford was going to try and apologize again, and Stan already felt bad enough -both because he'd just had an off day and because he'd now upset his brother- that he didn't want to sit through Ford's mushy gushing that had the possibility of leading to tears… on his part.

Stan knew Ford would understand. He probably could probably use the space too. Either way he received a small nod from his twin.

Stan got up and exited the bar as fast as he could without giving the appearance of running away. He just needed a few minutes alone, that was all. He wouldn't abandon his brother and Ford knew it, which could probably be factored into why he hadn't seemed concerned. Uncertain maybe, but not concerned, since after all, if experience had taught them one thing it was that Stan always came back to Ford.

A quick breath of crisp night air and a few minutes to get his thoughts to calm down once more and he'd return to a more relaxed atmosphere again, where he could proceed to see if he couldn't get his twin wasted.

That had been the plan anyway, however it became clear to him within the first minute of his being outside that it was not going to happen. The sound of someone approaching made the man groan under his breath. "Ford, I told you, I'm getting some-"

"Stanley Pines?"

The unfamiliar voice made Stan whirl around and tighten his hands into fists reflexively, even if he couldn't think of any reasons as to why he might suddenly be in danger. As soon as he saw the man he'd briefly mistaken for his brother, Stan felt his heart rate pick up and warning bells began ringing in his mind, though why he wasn't sure, because the face he stared at didn't seem familiar. Yet something in Stan said he knew the man, which only served to alarm him further.

"Yes," Stan answered warily, checking him over for any weapons while also studying his face to see if he could get his mind to supply the recollection he assumed he had. The man looked no younger than him and stood perhaps an inch or two taller, but he looked as plain as anyone else in the town - plain clothes, cropped gray hair, solid build, nothing special, even if he did appear a bit more sinister than most, though, that judgement was solely based on the way he was currently staring at him. Overall, nobody Stan could remember ever having run into.

"Who're you?"

The man smirked, the expression devoid of humor and sending a spike of unwelcome dread along Stan's spine.

"Don't play dumb."

"Damn, is that really him?"

Stan jerked around when another voice echoed from across the lot, this one looking much younger than the guy whom Stan was still watching carefully as his arms began twitching, trying to decide whether he would need to bring them up or not. It wasn't hard to tell something was wrong about what was going on, but he still could not think up why the men would have a problem with him. He'd never done anything wrong in Canada, as far as he could recall.

"He's way old, dude. You sure it's him?"

"Yeah, he's right, those pictures were from way back when, how can ya be sure?"

"It's Pines. I never forget a face, especially not this one. Although," The first man narrowed his eyes in Stan's direction, "I'm not sure how he's even here."

Stan tried to quell the rising panic in his gut when the two new voices joined the fray, and he barely refrained from glaring at the one staring at him, the one who was obviously in charge. Who were these people and how did they know him? Better yet, how did he not know them?

It was driving Stan nuts and he could feel his head spin as he tried to process what was being said, what was happening around him, and tried to figure out what he was supposed to do; with these guys gathering around and standing in front of all visible escapes it was clear they meant some form of business. Business that he wanted no part in.

Even with those thoughts running rampant through his head Stan found it easy to slip into his charismatic, relaxed persona. He forced a small smile onto his face even as his brows pulled together in clear confusion. "Look, I'm gonna risk of soundin' redundant here and ask again: Who are you?"

The man pursed his lips, appearing to contemplate giving an proper answer. When he spoke his voice deepened, taking on a darker sort of amusement that had Stan fighting off a shudder.

"Nobody, as far as the rest of the world is concerned. Kind of like you, Pines, 'cuz according to our records from, what, couple decades ago, you died."

Stan forced himself to breathe carefully and not give away how anxious he suddenly was. _Okay, so they know about the whole faked your death thing… and they don't seem too happy about it. That's probably not good. But that still doesn't help! Who are they and_ how _do they know you faked your death?!_ Stan wracked his brain and could think of no instances in which he'd ever come across any of the men around him.

"Paolo, are you sure he even remembers? He's old enough he might be sen-"

"Shut it, Rickie, he's no more senile then I am. He remembers."

 _Paolo._ Stan froze in place, a sharp pressure slamming behind his eyes, making him dizzier than before, and he had to widen his stance to keep from falling over. It felt as if a barrier had been broken open and things finally started clicking into place as he was flooded with brand new information from memories he hadn't realized were there.

Faces flew past his mind's eye and and Stan hissed under his breath when things slowly became clearer. That was right, _Paolo. Another plan gone wrong. More dealings with mobs and..._ "The Rizzuto Family."

"See? He remembers just fine."

Paolo stepped forward and Stan backed up, making an effort to keep an eye on the other three that followed their boss's lead and began closing in as him. But then suddenly it wasn't three, it was four, five, eight- _Where did they come from..._ Had he not counted right? No, Stan swore he'd only heard four people talk in total and he shook his head in an attempt to rid his vision of the others, but they persisted. _Dammit, this was all his fault! - No, wait, why was it his fault?_

"Heh, and judging by the look on your face I bet you remember why you're still on the list."

Stan sensed the first man before he saw him and jumped back to narrowly avoid the fist intending to connect with his head. He brought his hands up to protect his face as well as fight back, and when he landed a blow on his assailant's jaw he desperately wished he had his knuckledusters, which would have sent the guy to the ground instead of stumbling back a few steps.

Another lunged for him and Stan growled, swinging quickly and aiming for the woman's stomach. Only the blow never landed.

Stan yelped when he swung right through the lady's image as if she were a ghost, the momentum of his punch sending him stumbling and letting his mind catch up enough to realize what was going on. He cursed loudly and picked himself up before anyone could jump at him, his eyes blowing wide when he found that even though he was aware his memories were bleeding into reality, they weren't going away like he was usually able to get them to do.

Stan looked around until met Paolo's gaze. The man stared back, bewildered by what he'd seen and Stan could only imagine how he looked to all of them.

Mabel and Dipper had been initially spooked by the whole thing too, when they had found him talking to thin air only to find out a moment later that he had thought he'd been talking to them. Ford hadn't been able to find a nerd word that fit the problem but had said he was sure it was all right since it was just part of Stan's remembering. Stan thought it just made him look like a lunatic.

 _No. Dammit, no! Why now? I thought I was done with these!_

Stan cried out when pain blew up behind his eyes and he found himself back on the hard ground from a blow he hadn't seen coming. A second later his attacker was digging the toe of their boot into his stomach, effectively knocking all the air from his lungs. Instinctively, Stan curled in on himself, doing his best to protect his head while a few more well placed kicks were delivered and he could tell he would be sporting some decent sized bruises.

He tried to think of a way out of his situation. Knowing the feds had likely abandoned him and that nobody else was going to help, Stan couldn't see any way out, even if he did feel like he was forgetting something important. _Didn't I have someone other than the cops? Coulda sworn there was another guy-_

His thoughts were cut short when the guy Paolo had called Rickie grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked up. The sharp discomfort had Stan following quickly before his scalp could start bleeding from the abuse. It would've been stupid not to comply at that point anyway; they had already taken his knife, he could taste too much blood and everything hurt. If Stan hadn't been sure his associates had left him to die before, he was now, because there was no way they'd risk getting caught in the crossfire just to save him. In fact, part of Stan wondered if him winding up dead had been a part of their plan all along.

Stan desperately wished Ford would realize something was wrong and come out to help him. _Wait… Wait. A. Minute._

" _FO_ -ah!" Stan gasped, bile hitting the back of his throat when an especially well aimed kick was delivered to his abdomen. Stan took a shallow breath and swallowed hard, fighting the short wave of nausea before he opened his mouth again, determined to call Ford before they could do any more to him. The name sat dead on his lips when Stan felt cool metal press against his neck.

Paolo smiled down at him, all teeth and malice and hatred that Stan did and didn't understand at the same time, and when Stan felt the blade bite into his skin he bit his tongue to keep from making any noise that could be interpreted as fear or weakness, knowing from experience that those got you dead faster.

"Nobody's gonna save you this time, snitch."


	3. For Blood Is Thicker

**For Blood Is Thicker**

Ford stared into his third, recently refilled glass, his thoughts buzzing in disquiet uncertainty as he questioned his decision to let his brother go without… something. An apology? An explanation? Perhaps even a more in depth talk about the things they'd only glossed over thus far...

Actually, that last one wasn't likely to happen.

That conversation had the potential to last longer than they were willing to stay up, and it had the potential to become painful. It would dig at plenty of old, recently healed wounds. There would be arguing, most probably crying of one sort or the other, and it would not be a conversation for a public place, of that Ford was more than certain.

Then it was a good thing he'd let Stan go to cool off. At least that was what he assumed his brother was doing out there, since it was how he had recently been handling chats that went south and he hadn't been the one to start it. Granted, this one hadn't necessarily gone south, it had just gone… weird. There was a difference between the two, though they were similar depending on who was asked.

Ford knew it was best to leave Stan to his own devices until he came back on his own, and from there they could figure out whether they wanted to (a) go back to the motel and finally dig into the problem, or (b) stay where they were and pretend nothing had happened for the time being. Unfortunately that didn't keep the nagging unease from earlier from returning, burying its talons under his skin and taking up residence.

The man had reasoned with himself for the first five minutes that it was only his guilt making him want to run after his brother. After an additional five minutes Ford had to tell himself Stan had taken an hour to sort himself out before and to just give him time. Another minute and another drink down and Ford noticed that aside from himself the building was vacant. Thirty seconds later he still couldn't shake the worry off and he lost his resolve to stay put.

Getting up a bit faster than necessary and ignoring the shriek the chair gave in response, Ford headed for the door. His intent was only to check on his brother; make sure that he was okay, if only to prove to himself that there was no reason to be concerned. That was all. Nothing more.

He eased the door open, a calm query already forming on his tongue, something along the lines of "are you alright?" or "what's up?", but the words shriveled up before he could even decide which to go with.

The parking lot was empty.

Stanley was _gone_.

The realization hit hard, sending a familiar adrenaline pumping into his veins as he threw the door wide open, about to run out when the bartender shouted at him, saying he and his brother hadn't paid.

Ford grit his teeth and all but threw the money on the counter once he'd ripped it out of his pocket, aware that he shouldn't take his worried aggression out on the poor man who was only doing his job, but not caring. He was keeping him from searching for his brother and Ford was not about to pause and apologize for his foul mood when he was certain he'd never have another encounter with the man.

With their bill paid, Ford dashed out into the lot, eyes darting about for any signs of his brother. While it might have been logical to assume Stan had gone for a walk, Ford was sure he would have let him know if that had been the case, because his twin knew how badly he worried when he couldn't find him; he wouldn't have intentionally done that to him, especially when he wasn't the one he was upset with. Not completely anyway. Yet he was drawing blanks as to what else could have happened to his twin. He wanted to trust his instincts when they told him something wasn't right, but at the same time he desperately wished just this once they were letting him down.

When the light from the bar glinted off something wet on the ground not half a moment later, Ford swore his heart was slamming against his ribcage hard enough it would burst. Blood had been one of the easiest substances to identify _before_ his Portal days, the only difference now was that Ford could merely glance at it and deduce the severity of injury from the size of splatter, instead of having to study it a few minutes.

What he saw now had him sucking a breath in sharply as his mind threw dozens of scenarios for what could have caused the small splatters of red on the gravel, none of which were comforting. It was obviously a decent sized injury, not fatal but certainly not small either, and Ford swallowed hard, forcing out the images of Stanley bleeding and in pain that his brain conjured. He didn't have time to think about that! He had to find his brother.

Crouching to scour the dark ground, Ford found several foot shaped imprints in the gravel all seeming to head in the same direction, and among those prints were scuff and drag marks.

Signs of a struggle.

Stanley.

There was no other explanation for where his brother would have gone. Though, what reasons someone could have for harming him, Ford couldn't be certain. Sure, from what he knew and what he could guess about Stan's life, he'd angered a great deal of people, but nobody from around here… as far as he'd been made aware.

Not that it mattered then; the thought of anyone putting their hands on his little brother made Ford's blood boil in a way it hadn't in awhile and he had to fight to shut out the voice that told him to chase after them and rip their throats out. The sensible part of him demanded he keep his head while he went after Stan and his captors, and Ford latched onto it and had his feet moving as soon as he'd straightened himself out.

They'd left a clear enough trail even a child with no tracking knowledge would've been able to follow with relative ease. And Ford was no novice. It took a matter of moments, walking along the trail, before he'd figured out the direction to head, but the newfound lead did nothing to quell his rising panic.

At a leisurely pace, it took ten minutes to get to the docks. He was easily able to shave that time down to four by sprinting. As soon as the trail of red blended into the dark wooden platform, Ford came to a halt, looking around for Stan. With the street lights shining less brightly, he had to allow his eyes a moment to adjust to the darker area, as as they did he moved closer to where he heard voices, using cargo crates as cover while taking stock of the situation.

Needless to say, if the angry voice in his head hadn't been screaming before, it was then.

Stanley was indeed there, but so were his attackers, and while that alone would've been enough to set Ford off, it was the state of his brother that had rage practically pouring from his every pore.

It was with no pleasure that Ford noted he had been correct about the severity of injury Stan had received in the parking lot; his left temple was bleeding profusely, his bottom lip split and oozing the sticky liquid right along with it, and that was only the tip of the iceberg.

There was a tear in the upper right area of his jacket, indicating the likelihood of a cut in that arm, his left eye was closed slightly and red under a cracked lense, and his arms had been tied behind his back as he knelt, doubling over in a way that made Ford sure there were further injuries he couldn't see.

The fact that they had managed to do all that and drag Stan here in less than twenty minutes made him hesitate to come out, though, because it was hard to take his brother down even on a bad day. He could only image the results if he tried to go against them alone. Even distressed, Ford knew a dumb move when he thought it. It made him pause in his movements to reveal himself, deciding to listen in hopes that it would better help him assess the situation and the men who outnumbered him and his brother first- see if there was anything worthy of _his_ fear.

"Look, it wasn't even me-"

"Give it up, Pines. We know it was you who ratted us to the feds. We aren't looking for a confession."

"No, no, you got- I really- I think you need to listen though! It wasn't me, I swear!"

Ford didn't need to understand the context of the conversation to know Stanley had lied, his voice hitting that higher octave on the ending statement that it always did when he was swearing the false truth of something. It was more than a bit concerning, knowing his brother had actually done something to warrant this sort of, albeit over-the-top, justified retaliation.

Even so it still made Ford clench his jaw in hatred toward the group when he heard the distinct sound of knuckles striking flesh, followed by a grunt of pain.

Despite wanting to stay put for longer, Ford still found himself peering around his cover once more to see what was happening. The one who had punched Stan had just started stepping back, which gave Ford a clear view of the other two by his twin.

One of them stood at Stan's side, obviously strong -though, maybe not; Stan wasn't even struggling- since he was holding his brother still while another fastened something to his legs. Ford might have taken the time to check on the others then if he hadn't let his eyes immediately wander, following the path of the chain to find it attached to several cinder blocks, their purpose glaringly obvious when paired with the location.

 _No. Nononono._ ** _No._**

Ford inwardly cursed himself when he stood without thinking, and cleared his throat to grab the group's attention. The men's reactions were swift, even if they also conveyed shock, and Ford had to force himself to stay put when the pair by his brother jumped up and joined a third in drawing their weapons while the fourth ( _Oldest. Confident. The real threat._ ) stepped calmly over to Stan and held a knife to his throat. Ford's heart skipped a beat in panic at the sight but he schooled his expression to appear calm, as if he was the one holding _their_ family hostage and outnumbering _them_.

It felt like the worst kind of torture for him right then when everything in his being wanted to let go and beat the men within an inch of their life, but he managed to contain himself.

That didn't stop him from taking a few steps closer before the others could speak, though. He wanted to be as near to the situation as possible so that once he'd formulated a plan that would end favorably for Stanley and him, he could at least follow through. The men as a whole tensed and the one threatening his brother straightened up and, casually as one might talk about the weather, said, "Stop there or he dies."

Ford did as ordered without complaint; he was close enough now.

If he truly wanted to he could reach one of the men training their gun on him. Though, he wouldn't need to do even that; the familiar and comforting weight on his hip would be all the help he'd need when this went south. However, what held Ford's interest wasn't his proximity to the others, but the expression Stan wore; his twin was staring at him, eyes wide and pleading while also unfocused and dazed in a manner Ford recognized but wished he didn't. He could only wonder, then, what Stan thought he was seeing, what he remembered and why he was remembering it _now_ of all times.

"You're the one he came with, aren't you?"

The man addressed him and Ford did his best not to glare when he nodded. "I am, and I suggest you step away from my brother."

"Ye', I figured you two had to be related when I saw you earlier. Was a bitch figuring out which one was the man we wanted, won't lie. But, now that we've got good 'ole Pines back, the only one who's gonna get away is you."

Ford bit his tongue momentarily to keep from growling out that if they didn't step back he would tear them apart, and once he felt a bit more in control again he answered, keeping his voice as level as he could- which was just barely.

"I am not here to argue, I am here to retrieve my brother. If you would step away from him- I don't think anyone wants this becoming any more awkward than it already is."

Another man scoffed before the one who had been speaking thus far ( _the leader_ ) followed the sound of contempt with words so dismissive they had Ford going over all the reasons he could not reach for his gun and shoot him in the mouth.

"Can't. We have business with Pines. Business that doesn't include you. So walk away now and this doesn't have to get messy."

To punctuate the end of his sentence the man angled the knife so its tip was digging into the skin over his brother's carotid artery. Ford felt something inside beginning to fray.

"Get away from him or I _will_ kill you," Ford spat before he could stop himself.

He regretted the words instantly when the men tensed and held their weapons more cautiously than they had been, all aiming for either his head or his heart and making Ford freeze, realizing he'd almost lunged. The only good thing that seemed to come out of the rise in volume and activity was the fact that Stan's eyes appeared to have cleared some and he was frowning, looking at Ford in a way that left the man sure his brother was actually _seeing_ him now.

"Ford?"

The barely whispered word dripped with confusion and fear that made Ford's stomach clench painfully. He tried to imagine what could have been going through his brother's mind to make him speak and betray his emotions in a dangerous situation so easily, but found nothing clear came to mind.

He wasn't able to imagine what his brother was seeing, because while Ford knew the man likely had two different realities playing in front of his eyes, had two different versions of himself being scared and worried and not understanding what was going on, he had no inklings as to what part of his twin's life these things were tied to.

With a pang of discomfort Ford realized he was in the dark about a great deal of things regarding Stanley's past, since, while they had talked here and there about the lives they'd lead (Ford being very vague and sticking to the parts where he'd been in their dimension), they had glossed over much of the 10-year period in terms of where Stan had been and what he'd been getting himself into. His brother had always managed to switch topics or not-so-subtly brush it off altogether.

Sharp, strained laughter brought Ford back from what he hadn't realized had been deep thought, and he forced himself to focus on the problem at hand (he could dwell in discovery later). The man threatening Stanley seemed recovered from his lapse of stunned silence, and the mocking cackle cut off as soon as it started. A growl passed unpermitted past Ford's lips, his concern for what his brother was seeing forgotten.

Gaze locking with the ring leader, Ford narrowed his eyes at the cruel confidence he found, the way the man seemed to say "you won't do anything because I have what you want". Even if he was mostly correct in that assumption, Ford refused to allow any form of reaction to pass over his features. Instead he tried to focus on mapping out ways he could disarm the other without causing Stanley physical injury.

Unfortunately he got no further than "don't hit Lee" before the man grabbed a fistful of his brother's hair and yanked his head back sharply enough for Stan to whimper in response.

That was it. Ford didn't even register that a line had been crossed, but it had all the same.

No one. hurt. Stanley.

Something snapped. Neither his hands nor his mind belonged to him and everything became a blur, a cacophony of shouts and gunfire and cries of pain that didn't belong to him. He registered the familiar weight of his, as Mabel had dubbed it, "Portal-Gunny-Thing", in his hand, could smell the strange otherworldly smoke it spit out after firing, and the charred flesh and blood of whoever its blast had hit, but didn't know when he'd drawn it or pulled the trigger.

Ford watched his hands rip a chunk of hair out of someone's head and then reach out to snap the wrist of another, yet he felt nothing under his fingertips. It was a familiar sensation, a numb, almost autopilot, state of mind. He knew things wouldn't end well when he was like this, yet he couldn't remember how to get himself out of it.

Even as screams of agony echoed around him (screams he _knew_ he was the cause of) he didn't try to stop. Even when he felt a thrill of exhilaration at what he was doing run down his spine in a way that terrified him, he didn't stop.

He _couldn't_ stop. Not when one of the attackers buried a blade into his upper arm and dragged down before Ford threw him over the shoulder of the injured appendage; not when he felt a bullet graze the area of his head that contained metal; not even when all three men were lying unconscious at his feet, bruised and bleeding from various injuries ranging from scratches to laser burns, and in one's case, a deep cut in the stomach where Ford had reversed the hold on a knife and taken advantage of the weapon's angle.

But it wasn't over.

It couldn't have been over that fast. They had all gone down too fast, too easily, and it felt almost anticlimactic to Ford, who was still eerily calm while his mind was a buzzing hive of adrenaline induced activity. He needed something more, something to cement it into him that Stanley was safe, but he didn't know what that "something" was. All he really knew was that Stanley's safety had been his priority from the beginning and it still was, and…

And there had been _four_ men.

A familiar cry halted Ford's thoughts of victory, and the man felt himself become more coherent with the sound, enough to turn around and widen his eyes when he realized his error in focusing on the three others. The leader, the one he'd shot first to keep Stanley safe, had recovered enough to make his way back over to his brother, and now stood beside the weights attached to Stan, the malicious grin spread across his face making his intentions clear as day.

"No…"

Ford stumbled forward, cursing his legs for suddenly going weak on him. Time suddenly slowed and he watched the cinder blocks get pushed off the dock into the dark water below, Stanley following them with a startled gasp. The loud splash that seemed to reverberate in the otherwise too silent night air was all that was left as proof anything had happened at all.

Ford was sure he only stood frozen for a few seconds, but it could easily have been hours, if the man who'd thrown his brother into danger hadn't moved suddenly, making an attempt to get away since it was clear to him as he stared at his fallen group that Ford's threats had not been empty.

On instinct and perhaps reflex, Ford aimed for the leader and shot him in the back of the knee, his only forethought for the action being that once Stanley was safe, he would want the man alive. After that, though, he wasn't thinking, he was throwing his coat and glasses onto the dock and diving into the gelid waters in the spot he'd seen his twin disappear, the mantra of, "Save Stanley. Protect Stanley. He's all you have. _Save him_ " the only thing driving him; the only thing helping him ignore the burning in eyes the feeling of saltwater in his open wounds.

It was so dark Ford wondered if he'd even see Stan if the man was a foot in front of him, and the voice at the back of his head telling him he'd seen things in darker situations wasn't doing anything to calm him. Perhaps it should have. Logically speaking, Ford should have been immediately reassured… but he wasn't, because nothing about this was logical.

Why now? Why, after they'd made so much progress, did things have to take such a negative turn. Who even were these people? Why had they felt the need to hurt his brother? _Nothing_ about what had happened, and was happening, made any logical sense, and Ford couldn't find it in himself to pretend it did, no matter how anxious it made him.

After what seemed like an eternity, Ford caught sight of the dark outlining of his brother and held back a gasp before picking up his speed. As soon as his numbing fingers brushed against material he recognized as Stan's jacket, he pulled his gun back out and squeezed the trigger. Not hard enough to fire, but enough for it to illuminate the water around him with its charge.

The man ignored how his heart hammered in his chest when he noted Stanley wasn't struggling anymore (if he had been in the first place) and forced himself to focus on the task of freeing his brother. He squinted when the small glow illuminated his target and he wasted no time pointing at the chain helping to weight Stan down and firing. As soon as the link was severed Ford got as tight a grip he could on his twin and kicked for the surface.

His lungs had begun to ache and he tried not to think about what that could mean for Stan if he, someone who had trained themselves to hold their breath for several minutes, was starting to need oxygen.

When they broke the surface Ford noted with mounting distress that, while he gasped for air, Stanley didn't, and he reached for the dock he'd leapt from with cold, shaking fingers. He hissed in frustration over how long it took to pull himself out of the water while keeping hold of his twin, but dismissed the self-directed annoyance as he undid the rope binding his brother's hands and laid Stanley out on his back to begin CPR.

Ford counted every compression under his breath, doing his best to push away the voice that sounded a bit too familiar for comfort telling him it wasn't going to work, that he'd taken to long, that Stanley was going to die and it would be all his fault. He knew it was wrong -had already felt his brother's pulse, no matter how weak- and told it to shut up, because this was working. It would work. He'd lost too many people, done this too many times, had made mistakes and learned from them and knew now how to keep someone alive… it would work.

It had to. The alternative was one he wasn't willing to consider.

Ford leaned down to breathe into his brother's mouth, momentarily glad that Stanley wasn't yet conscious because he knew the man would freak out if he suddenly woke to find Ford in such close proximity, even if it was to save his life. When nothing happened after that he swallowed the lump trying trying to rise in his throat and went back to work with the chest compressions.

"Come on, Lee," Ford whispered, knowing his twin wasn't likely to hear him but hoping he would all the same, "Come on. You cannot do this to me. You are not going to be taken out by something this ridiculous. Come on."

Breathe. Wait.

One. Two. Three…

 _This. Will. Work._

"I will not allow you to go like this, Stanley. Get up!"

He slammed his fist into his brother's chest and jumped back in surprise when Stan jolted and sputtered, turning on his side as he coughed up more water than Ford was comfortable with.

It took a minute, but once he was sure Stan was alright enough to sit up, he assisted him in doing so. Stanley shivered and Ford couldn't be sure if it was because of the cold or because he might still have been experiencing a flashback, but… he was okay, and that was all that mattered.

 _He's okay. He's okay. You did it. You protected him. This isn't like last time. He's_ okay _._

Ford started letting himself relax into the reassurance that knowledge brought until he was dragged back into reality when he heard footsteps; a broken shuffling that could only mean a limp. The recent memory of shooting someone's leg flashed before his eyes and it was then that he remembered the reason his brother had been in the water to begin with. Remembered the one who'd put him there. The one who had been trying to _murder his brother._

"F-Ford…?"

Stanley's shaky voice went unheard as Ford turned around to find the man he'd shot several feet away, his intent to get away clear as day. He barely registered the growl building in his throat when he leapt to his feet to chase after the injured human, the white hot rage he'd felt before his dive returning with gusto. With every step Ford gained on the man, images of what he'd done to Stanley flashed in front of his face along with a new wave of fear for his brother's safety.

Step. _He took Stanley._

Step. _He scared Stanley._

Step. _He threatened Stanley._

Step. _He hurt Stanley._

Step. _He tried to_ drown _Stanley._

The startled expression the man wore when Ford grabbed the nape of his jacket and promptly threw him to the ground was satisfying to say the least. Ford made no efforts to conceal his intentions as he stood over the man, a murderous glint in his eye when he slammed his foot into his side, giving him no time to speak.

The man's responded by telling Ford he wouldn't beg for his life. The blow he attempted to deliver afterward was easily dodged and only served to fuel the fire that had Ford wanting to hurt him. He crouched down, grabbing the man's collar and shaking him roughly, unconcerned by the audible crack of his skull slamming against the ground.

Had anyone come upon the scene and thought the treatment too rough, Ford would have gladly fought them too. This man deserved everything he had coming.

That ideal was only cemented into his brain when the man spit in his face.

Red blurred the edges of his vision then and Ford hissed, slamming the other into the ground once more. The man's weak attempts to fight back stopping fairly quickly after that, and Ford felt numb again.

Blow after blow he reigned down upon the man's face until it resembled an abstract macabre painting more than anything human, until his knuckles were bloody and bruised and he was panting heavily from exertion, until he'd felt the man had begun to receive adequate punishment. He needed to understand that if you harmed something precious to Ford, you would have to pay the price.

And Ford was still so scared; this man had recognized Stanley from how many years back and still wanted him dead? What would stop him from coming after his twin again once he was released? Nothing. Ford wasn't going to risk it. He couldn't.

It was for that reason that he wrapped his hands around the man's neck and pushed down, squeezing hard to cut off the wheezing breaths he'd been taking. The way it felt to have someone completely subdued and at your mercy was enthralling- calming in a way Ford had forgotten, and he focused on that as the man's pulse started slowing in his neck, until he stopped thrashing so much, until…

" _Stanford,_ ** _stop!_** "

Stanley. What was wrong? Why did he sound so upset?

He knew his brother would be distressed at the very least, but… upset? With _him_? Couldn't he see he was protecting him? Could he not see this man was too dangerous to be allowed to live? Couldn't he…?

No… But… Why?

" _Stanford, stop now, you're killing him!_ "

That was the point, wasn't it? The man had to die, because he'd hurt Stanley, because he was a threat so long as he remained alive. Why didn't his brother realize that?

Why couldn't Stanley see he was only trying to protect him? It was his job to keep him safe, after all. After events of Weirdmageddon Ford had sworn to never let anything cause his brother that much suffering again.

Stan must have forgotten that, considering he was showing such concern over the man's impending death.

"Ford, that's _enough_ …"

No. It wasn't enough. Until the foul creature was no longer living it would not be enough. It would never be enough until he could be absolutely certain that Stan was safe.

Stanley would have to understand that this was how things went sometimes. It wasn't always pleasant, but it had to be done.

Right?

"... S-Sixer?"

That made Ford pause and remove some pressure from the man's throat as he finally looked up at Stanley, wanting to understand why his brother had all of the sudden sounded so small and hesitant. He was met with the sight of his twin's face twisted with fear and uncertainty, both of which Ford could tell were not directed at the man beneath his hands. _Which means… Oh…_

Ford scrambled to his feet and backed away from whom he'd been moments away from executing, coming back to himself with horrifying abruptness.

He stared at his hands, then at the gasping person on the ground, then at Stanley who was watching him apprehensively and hadn't moved from his spot, still shivering from what he could suddenly only hope was the cold. He looked back at the man he had beat so very nearly to within an inch of his life and had to swallow the bile that rose. Under normal circumstances Ford knew he could have walked away from something like that without feeling too much remorse, but this… this was different. There… there hadn't been a need for this- at least... not to this extent

The knowledge sat like a hard stone in his gut and he desperately wanted to dispel it then, not because he felt guilty or because he regretted his actions (because he didn't), but because… he'd done it in front of Stanley. He'd growled and hissed and snarled like an animal and… and Stanley had seen all of it.

Ford felt sick.

And his brother was being quiet, so horribly quiet, and he didn't know what he was supposed to do; everything in him was telling him to run, to get as far away from everything as possible and wait for the dust to settle. Yet he knew that wasn't an option; Stanley was there and he was hurt and bleeding… and he needed Ford's help.

Though, whether or not his twin would allow him to even get near after what he'd witnessed, Ford wasn't sure, and he had to blink away the pressure behind his eyes that made it even more difficult to see when he acknowledged that Stan had every reason to reject him. He couldn't blame him if he did. In fact, he would be amazed if his brother didn't.

His twin had officially seen what Ford knew to be the worst part of himself. He never wanted that. He had avoided the topic for so long, had been doing so well at hiding it too... But that was over. Now he would never again be the " _nerdy bro who needed someone to protect him_ ", he would be " _the raging monster who almost killed someone- and how many people has he killed before?_ ", and the thought pained him more than he could describe.

Whether he wanted him around or not, though, Stan needed his injuries seen to and Ford was not going to leave them to fester because he was afraid of what reaction he'd get. As it was, Stanley was just staring at him, eyes still full of shock and, now, some unidentifiable emotion that made Ford frown in concern as he bent down to grab his coat and glasses, placing the latter item onto his face and wrapping the other around Stan's wet shoulders, hoping to provide some kind of warmth.

He wanted to ignore his twin's small flinch when he did so, but a knife had already begun twisting in his heart and the desire to flee and avoid Stan grew stronger. A small hope that his brother would not be afraid, died with the motion. Ford hadn't realized it had been there until he felt it being crushed.

He understood, of course he did, but he and Stan had been through a lot in their lives, both together and apart, and while he had been expecting the reaction from his brother, he hadn't been prepared for it. At all. And it hurt.

He was not about to let his brother see that, though, and quickly schooled his expression to appear as calm as possible, figuring Stan would be more likely to relax around him if he looked like his usual, calculating self. Whether he succeeded or not, Ford wasn't sure, but given that Stanley didn't back away when he leaned in a second time to inspect the damage done by his assailants, he could only assume he was managing relatively well.

Ford shook his head when he found he'd been correct in assuming his brother's arm had been cut, and, while it bled lazily, it was still cause for concern in his eyes, especially when it was paired with the jagged laceration in Stan's neck from where the blade seemed to have been dragged when the man holding it had fallen backwards after Ford having shot him. Neither wound was life threatening or particularly nasty, but it was _Stan,_ and Ford couldn't stand the sight of any family members being hurt. It needed to be fixed.

 _So focus on what needs to be done to fix it. Think._

Ford nodded in acknowledgement of his own thoughts and took a deep breath to reign his feelings in. They didn't need him being emotional now, they needed his logic and fully formed plans.

It took a minute, but Ford decided the first thing he needed to do was get Stan patched up. He almost suggested going to the boat, which was decidedly closer, but discarded the idea when he remembered he had brought the first-aid into the motel because he had faith in their knack for contracting injury. Granted, he'd never considered the possibility of something this bad happening… He made a mental note to start carrying the damn kit at all times.

The second thing Ford knew they would need to do, as much the thought disgusted him, was call 911 to help the men he had so badly wounded. It would do them no good to be left where they were, and he was aware that, should the hospital and authorities ask who had attacked them, they would say nothing because it was obvious they were connected to some kind of illegal activity. The last thing they'd want was federal officials sniffing around.

But that call would come after he'd gotten Stanley into a warm, secure place.

The third thing Ford was acknowledged, was that they could not stay there. They would spend the night to let Stanley recover a bit, but then they had to leave whether they had all the supplies needed or not. It wasn't ideal, but he was sure there were other towns further north where he could find substitute supplies for the things they required to continue into the Arctic. There were other towns that inhabited people that didn't have it out for his twin; Stanley couldn't have pissed off the entire western side of Canada, right?

With that in mind Ford went to gently place a hand on his brother's shoulder, only to stop himself before making contact, staring at the blood covering his fingers and shirt sleeve and retracting the appendage.

Perhaps touching Stan after all… that, wasn't the best idea.

Ford didn't know if he would be allowed to do that, seeing as he'd practically ripped someone apart and felt no remorse. Settling for the next thing sure to work, Ford cleared his throat softly to grab his brother's attention before he spoke, inwardly cursing how strained his words sounded and how he had to fight off the stutter trying to accompany them with every shiver that ran through his body.

"Stanley, we have to leave."

* * *

 **A/N: _Abrupt endings are abrupt. I'm not gonna lie, this was a lot of fun for me to write. :)_**


	4. Jumbled Minds Are All but Compliant

**Jumbled Minds Are All but Compliant**

The silence encompassing their trek back to the motel was accompanied by the soft chatter of Stanley's teeth and the squelching of their wet shoes on pavement.

It was excruciating for Ford.

Every time Stan looked back at him he tensed, waiting for the man to say something that never came, though he could practically see the half-formed words on his tongue. It did nothing to help with the anxiety pulsing in his veins, and before they got to their room he'd had to endure concerned looks from the lady at the front desk, who'd asked if they wanted her to call the hospital and Ford had had to tell, "Yes, but not for us. There are men at the docks who we found with some serious injuries."

He didn't wait for a reply from her before he walked away. The last thing they needed in that moment were people they didn't know touching them… or maybe that was just him.

When they stepped into their room that silence became less of an unsettling tag along, and more a crushing force that had Ford fighting the urge to run or hide in the bathroom. He reminded himself that he couldn't since there was nobody else there to take care of Stanley.

The temptation was still there, though, and he had to ignore the small space he stood less than a foot from when wetting a washcloth. Stan sat on the edge of the nearest bed and Ford focused on the task at hand, needing to do something other than think about his brother. Some things were harder to fight against than others, and in this case, the instinctive need to escape coursing through him was one of them.

It wasn't like Stan had never seen him run off to hide before. He'd probably understand… He knew how the small, dark hiding places felt safer, because nothing could get Ford in there.

While nothing was coming for him this time, and he knew that, Ford also knew he would feel the slightest bit better if he could just go in there, turn the light off and breathe. Maybe it had to do with how cold he was despite having turned the heat in the room to its highest, but breathing was becoming increasingly difficult as the minutes passed.

Ford shook his head, using the motion to rid the thoughts and regretting the action when he felt a sharp sting, a too late reminder of the bullet graze he'd received during the fight. He'd have to deal with that sooner rather than later.

 _Stanley first_.

"Right," Ford snapped under his breath, the reminder that he wasn't the most important one making him pick up the pace in getting what he needed to bandage Stan up. It rankled the man to realize how, even now, the first response he had to injuries was to help himself before others.

He had been getting better, having actually remembered to ask the twins after Weirdmageddon if they'd been hurt before dealing with his own injuries, but it was still a problem- even if everyone insisted that it was all right for him to react that way, given the length of time he'd spent alone.

Ford knew he shouldn't berate himself for the habits he'd picked up in the portal but that didn't stop him from doing so; maybe it had been survival of the fittest a lot of the times out there, and he had to look out for himself before anyone else, but that wasn't the case now- _and dammit you need to stop. Focus on him._

Twisting the hot water off, more forcefully than necessary, and wringing the towel as he grabbed the first aid kit, Ford knelt in front of Stan. He watched for any signs of distress in his twin that might have been caused by his close proximity, and when he was met with nothing but the frown of a brother who's gaze flitted from his shoulder to the side of his head, he got to work.

Ignoring the staring and ache in his own tired, injured limbs, he pushed his coat off Stan's shoulders, moving on to peeling the material of the next layer of clothing away from the wound.

Stan shifted then, denying access to the cut and Ford stiffened in response, a million and one reasons as to why he might have done that already running through his brain, none of them favorable.

"Ford, you look worse than me. Do you first."

His brother's voice was hoarse and he sounded exhausted, but Ford would have to have been deaf to miss the concern lacing his words, as well as blind to miss the way he kept staring at his injuries, one of which Ford could feel was still bleeding, albeit at a sluggish pace. He rolled his eyes and ignored the guilty feeling blooming in his chest over why exactly he had those injuries in the first place, because of course Stanley would focus on his pain before his own, he always had.

It was a touch frustrating for him, too. Why couldn't his twin put himself before others? Why couldn't he be the idiot Ford had called him so many times before? It would've made sense for Stan to be selfish, considering he'd been dealt such a shitty hand in life and had had to learn to fend for himself from such a young age -something Ford occasionally wondered if he resented him for even when he insisted it was fine.

But no. Here he was, still worried about someone else. It made no sense, and yet all the sense in the world, because… that was Stanley. The one who'd wasted (though he would say "spent", because "Saving you wasn't a waste.") 30 years of his life just to bring him back; the one who'd been willing (if also rightfully pissed and hurt) to give the Shack back after having called it a home for those aforementioned 30 years; the one who sacrificed his very being to save the world- and incidentally, Ford's life.

Stanley would rarely put his own needs before him, and while Ford would usually let him because there was no use fighting him on it (especially in the past), he would be damned if just this once he didn't get the care he needed _first._

Ford sighed aloud then before grabbing his brother's shirt and pulling him forward so he could go back to his inspection, ignoring Stan's half-hearted protests and countering them easily.

"No. I look worse than I actually am. Now shut up and let me do this."

The tone of finality to the words had Stan quieting immediately, which was honestly not something Ford had been expecting, but was relieved by nonetheless. He'd been waiting for his twin to say something, even if it was just a snarky "yes mom" comment thrown to frustrate him. He said nothing, though, and Ford bit his tongue to keep from questioning the reasoning behind that.

 _He's probably just tired. Yes, he was tired earlier so that makes sense. And that had been before having the everloving hell beat out of him. Plus he almost drowned- actually it takes 7 to 8 minutes to drown so he probably still had 4 minutes left which isn't "almost"- shut up, you know what you mean._

Yes, Stanley just needed to be patched up, warmed, and allowed to rest. He'd be fine and back to his endearingly annoying chatty self once he'd gotten those three important things. _Stop trying to read too far into things._

His brother stayed quiet for the duration of the ministrations too, only hissing or grunting in pain whenever Ford had to apply rubbing alcohol to the open wounds, something for which he had found himself apologizing for every time it happened. Even when he'd finished putting Steri-Strips along Stan's arm and temple and wrapped them -along with his bruised knuckles- to protect from bacteria; even after he'd gotten ice on his brother's eye and cleaned the blood from his face, something he was surprised Stan let him do because it brought them even closer, Ford felt awful.

Because, if he had just kept silent on the issue at the bar Stan never would have gone outside and he never would have been attacked- never would have been hurt. It tore Ford apart, especially when he _knew_ there was more to the damage than what he could see. There were more bruises underneath the slowly drying shirt his brother was insisting he could change out of by himself, but more than that, there were bruises on his psyche. He had no doubts about that.

Stan had thought it was over, that he'd remembered everything -hell, _Ford_ thought he'd remembered everything- and he'd certainly told the kids and local reporter at home as much, so to find out that that wasn't the case, and then to be hurt during an episode…

The worst part was it all could've been avoided. No, scratch that, the worst part was that he wasn't sure how to help his brother now. Being physically affectionate to comfort was where he excelled; in the emotions and feeling aspect of life, Ford knew he was woefully lacking any proper skills, even when regarding his twin, the one person he knew almost as well as himself (better than a long time ago). Having no idea what to say or do had never been a feeling the man particularly enjoyed, which was why Ford stood when Stan disappeared into the bathroom to shower and get into dry clothes and began pacing, attempting to assemble a plan of action... If for no other reason than to settle his nerves that still crackled with the static of anxiety.

He only got a few steps before Stan was peaking out into the room again, eyes narrowed in a disapproving way that made Ford pause. "Wh-"

"You'd better be… not bloody when I get out."

The door closed once more and Ford blinked. That… hadn't been what he'd expected. Granted he hadn't been aware he'd expected anything to begin with, but regardless.

With attention drawn to his appearance, though, he looked down at his hands, noticing how they were now covered in Stan's blood along with his and the others'. He winced when he acknowledged that to his brother, who could see the rest of the damage, he probably looked appalling.

Not only that, but he was also still wet, something the warmth of the room had helped him to forget. Before Ford worried about his clothes, though, he knew the bullet graze in his scalp had to be dealt with; it was probably what upset his brother the most.

Stepping over to the mirror with the supplies he needed, Ford got to work, letting his body take over the practiced procedures while his mind wandered so he didn't have to stare at the mess that was his appearance.

Not that his mind was taking him anywhere he particularly wanted to go either, bringing up the conversation he'd had with Stanley earlier that week, the one that had sparked the argument that had put Ford on the defensive for several days afterwards.

Stan had asked about what sorts of things Ford had done in the Portal because he'd wanted to know about that part of his life. He had denied him access to that information... To protect him, obviously. That _was_ why he'd kept it from him.

Or… had it been to protect himself?

The thought burned but Ford had to admit it held weight to it; he'd hated who he had been beyond their dimension. What he'd had to become to survive wasn't pretty by any means, and he didn't want to be like that anymore. He didn't want to have to remember. He'd thought he'd never have to if he could only keep it from Stan.

Yet he had become that person again, and it was terrifying how quickly the switch had been flipped too. How a few well placed threats and acts of violence against someone he cared for had dragged that angry wild animal out, and thrown it violently back into his body.

And Ford had thought, truly believed, he'd had it under control- that after almost half a year back in his home dimension he wouldn't have to worry about it anymore. He'd kept that part hidden when Bill had been _torturing_ him, for God's sake. He'd been confident that it would never see the light of day and nobody would know it existed, but now… now someone did know. The one person who had known something was amiss but still hadn't been able to piece together what it was.

 _Well, he no longer had to guess._

That thought alone made Ford's breath hitch in his chest. Not only did Stan know now, but he was being _quiet_ about the whole ordeal. That only served to put him more on edge even as part of him screamed that of course he would be subdued; he'd just watched his brother almost kill someone and, at the very least, severely injure several others, and what would be weird is if he'd chatted as if nothing was wrong.

And things _were_ wrong. So very, very wrong, for so many different reasons that Ford didn't know which one he was supposed to start with. Should it be the part where he'd ignored his instincts all day and allowed anything to happen to his brother at all? Should it be the part where he'd let his fear get the better of him to the point he'd lashed out? Should it be the part where... where he'd taken some kind of solace in it? Missed it even?

Yes, there had been something calming about the way things had progressed, how the cries of pain quickly faded to nothing when he'd landed a perfect blow and driven them from the conscious plane of existence. There had been something satisfying about the crunching of bone, and the feeling of knowing lives were at his mercy, that if he chose to twist something the wrong or right way their miserable souls would cease to exist. There was nothing like it.

Perhaps that was what disturbed him more than anything: That while he never wanted to be like that again and he'd hated the circumstances that had forced him to do it, had hated what he'd done… he hadn't necessarily hated how it felt.

Shame seared across Ford's face, stiflingly hot, and he pulled the bandage he'd been working around the gash in his shoulder tighter than necessary, letting the pain pull him away from the thoughts that were only serving to dig up feelings of self-disgust, letting it ground him. Ford cursed the way his fingers shook when he secured the material and grabbed the edge of the counter to make an effort to still the tremors that he could now feel running through his entire body.

 _No._ He grit his teeth and shoved away from the linoleum surface that was doing nothing to help his efforts. He needed something else in order to stop it, something familiar but stronger than the small bites of pain he could achieve by pulling his hair and prodding at his injuries. He needed a distraction.

 _Now. Find it now. Stanley can't see you like this. You need to calm down. Now._

He was at a loss as to what he was supposed to do until he spotted the duffle bag atop the desk by the closet, remembering how Stanley had asked that he be "not bloody" when he got out. He jumped to grab clean clothes; it seemed the easiest way to force himself into a mind numbing lull where he wasn't thinking about anything aside from the task at hand, not even the reasons he was doing it.

Along with that, he didn't exactly want to undress in front of his brother- once had been more than enough, and he was grateful Stan had been decent enough to not ask about what he'd seen, or even mention it.

Ford rubbed at the burn scars on his wrists at the thought and sighed quietly before proceeding to pull his favorite maroon sweater over his head, effectively hiding the damage Bill had done. _Damage that you deserved_.

Much like he deserved the silence from his brother that was driving him up a wall...

 _Enough. Nobody thinks that except you._

Well, that had been true yesterday, but now he wasn't so sure. Now that Stan knew what kind of person he was- had been ( _yes… had been…_ ), would he view him differently?

Would knowing what he was capable of doing render his brother incapable of trusting him?

Would he now understand why he said he deserved the abuse inflicted upon his person?

Would he tell him he now agreed, that he deserved blame for his mistakes?

Would he stare at Ford with the same horror and contempt other people did and tell him he should never have saved him?

Would he want to leave?

Would he never want to see his face again?

Ford paled at the possibility of such a thing happening, biting his lip when it began quivering as he fumbled with the button of his jeans for longer than he should have.

If Stanley left him alone, he didn't think he'd be able to function. He'd gone so long without companionship, and now that he had it once more the thought of going back to having no one was unbearable.

After all those years of sleepless nights, of running, hiding, fighting, killing, and so much more, Ford finally had someone, and if he disappeared… it hurt to consider- or maybe it was just the pressure building in his chest causing the pain.

The blurring of his vision was as abrupt as it was unwelcome and Ford blinked rapidly in a vain attempt to rid the tears, bringing a hand over his mouth in the same moment to muffle the sharp inhales escaping his tight throat. He couldn't be without Stanley anymore; sometime after Weirdmageddon his brother had once again become his anchor and he wasn't ready or willing to let go. After enduring the pain of thinking he'd lost his twin forever, the possibility of going through it again and this time knowing it was permanent… he couldn't do it.

Ford didn't want to be alone anymore. He couldn't be.

Being alone meant danger. It meant silence that stretched for hours at a time. It meant days going by where he said not a single word. It meant he was unwanted, unloved, undeserving of companionship, and it meant he'd have to experience that crushing, unbearable _loneliness_ again. And he couldn't do it. He just… he couldn't.

 _Please, don't make me…_

* * *

If anyone had asked him about the silence beyond the door before everything with Cipher had gone down, Stan would have told them it was just how Ford was, to not be bothered by it, but now? Now the silence outside the bathroom was concerning; he had made it habit to talk with him when Stan couldn't see him in order to let him know he was still around.

It was something Stan had often freaked out about for awhile after he'd begun regaining his memories: That he'd wake up or turn around to find out it had all been a crazy dream and his brother was actually still stuck inside the Portal.

While he could understand why Ford wasn't up for talking then, it was strange that his twin wasn't even bothering to send him an occasional "are you alright in there?" type inquiry. It made him worry about what was going through the big brain of Ford's, and he dressed as quickly as he was able, wanting to check on him as soon as possible.

Something had been off about his brother since the docks, and while Stan would bet a million dollars it had to do with what Ford had done to… well, everyone, he wasn't sure why.

Everything Ford had done to the men before Paolo was a blur to him. Stan had been seeing and hearing and feeling two different realities and for the life of him, he still couldn't figure out which had been which, even when he'd caught Ford in the middle of it. If anything that had made everything more confusing.

Once the ground had fallen from underneath him to be replaced by freezing cold water, though, the memory had halted, or ended (he didn't care which it was), and… well, he didn't want to think about how the sensation had been similar to being trapped in the trunk of a car...

He shuddered when he remembered how dark things had suddenly gone in the water, how he hadn't been able to breathe, and quickly directed his thoughts to, while unpleasant, still decidedly safer areas. Like how he'd been so out of touch with reality that he hadn't realized he'd lost consciousness until he'd been opening his eyes to find his brother helping him sit up.

But then Ford had turned away and the relief Stan felt at knowing they were alive faded before it could completely form. The look in his brother's eyes when they'd locked onto Paolo… he'd never seen him look at anyone like that… like many looked at him, like they were the scum of the earth and needed to be gotten rid of.

Ford's anger had always been cold. Even when he was shouting and punching, there was never fire behind what the man did, but ice, unyielding, frigid and calculating. However, it was never hot. Never like Stan's.

Yet there had been some sort of change in Ford when he'd gone after Paolo, and suddenly it _had_ been fire in his brother's eyes; flames of pure, unadulterated fury that made Stan want to flinch back as if the anger had been directed at him.

And then the beating had started and Stan hadn't been able to take his eyes away as he'd watched Ford break what _had_ to have been nearly every bone in the mob leader's face. It had been horrifying, of course, but violence was something Stan had gotten used to over the years, so what his brother had done certainly was not the goriest display he'd laid eyes on.

Still, Stan knew if anyone were to ask, he would rank it the worst by far, for the sole reason that he was the cause of it.

People had used him as a punching bag on numerous occasions before and taken pleasure from it, but if someone had told him one day he would watch his big brother -his sweet, dorky, nerdlord Ford- protect him by hurting someone, and that he'd have that same glint of satisfaction in his eyes, he would've laughed in their face.

Yet that was exactly what he'd witnessed, and Stan could still hear the snarl that had come from Ford's mouth before he'd grinned in a way that was reminiscent of the time Cipher had possessed Dipper, his hands moving down to strangle the man.

Stan's throat was still sore from screaming at his twin to stop.

Even as the man's pulse pounded at the memory, he couldn't help but feel impressed with the speed and efficiency in which his brother had done everything. Every move had seemed well practiced, instinctual, and while that fact was unsettling, it also also interested him; that was a side of Ford he'd never seen- hell, he hadn't even known it had existed, and it had been terrifying, but not for the reasons most people would've thought.

It was terrifying because up until that point Stan had thought the only combat skills his twin knew involved usage of guns, and he'd assumed that was because Ford didn't like hand-to-hand and wasn't all that strong.

Sure, his brother had been able to subdue him when they'd first fought (if that could've been called a fight) after he'd come out of the Portal, but Stan had always attributed that to his being tired out after escaping government custody, running all over town, and getting thrown around by the gravitational anomalies beforehand. He'd never considered Ford actually could have been that strong, especially when the last time they'd truly gone at it the man had been light as a feather and about as powerful.

It had been terrifying because Stan knew his brother had done that, become that, to protect him. It was the knowledge that Ford wouldn't hesitate to severely harm another human being if it meant keeping them away from him. It was the fact that he hadn't realized how protective of him Ford was; how much he was willing to do for him. It was insane.

What Ford had done had been absolutely insane, and stupid, and dangerous… and there was something so terribly comforting about that.

The only problem was that Ford had been acting off ever since he'd come out of his fight mode and calmed down. He was jumpy and on edge, and Stan could only assume that had to do with what had happened… and yet… he had appeared perfectly in control of the situation- so much so that Stan wasn't sure Ford had been completely himself. He had still been there, sure, it wasn't like something else had taken over his body, but there had been a change. Maybe that was why he was having trouble calming down. After all, Ford wasn't usually so violent towards people.

Stan knew it was his job to make sure that didn't get to Ford, though.

The man took care when opening the door, being as quiet as possible to keep from spooking his brother, but got it no more than halfway before abandoning that plan altogether and practically ripped the thing off it's hinges when he saw Ford.

His twin had himself backed into the space between the closet and desk, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he held one hand over his heart and kept the other glued to the wall behind him, eyes blown wide with panic. Despite how warm the room was he shook like a leaf, and Stan felt his stomach twist painfully when he took it in.

The sight may have been familiar, but it was by no means common, and it worried Stan to no end, not knowing what brought it on or how long it would take him to recover. In some cases it took only a few minutes, but there had been a time or two when it had taken hours to get Ford to completely calm himself.

The only factor that remained constant when it happened was that he wanted Stan simultaneously right beside him and far away. Stan could only ever hold out hope for was a speedy recovery. That always had him wondering if Ford had similar thoughts when waiting for him to come back after a memory lapse.

"Ford?"

His brother made no move to show he'd heard him and Stan winced at the lack of reaction. He couldn't decide if that was a relief or not, because while he usually preferred "deaf Ford" to "violently skittish Ford", it was still unsettling.

Stan got closer, keeping his movements slow and subtle so when Ford did see him, even if he didn't register his being there, he wouldn't be startled.

"Ford? What's wrong, buddy?"

Ford shook his head roughly in response and Stan bit his lip, unsure what to do with that; if Ford wasn't being skittish and could hear him, it didn't bode well at all. Mute Ford was always difficult to help.

That didn't stop Stan from getting close enough to put a hand on his brother's shoulder while the other latched onto the six fingers over Ford's rapidly beating heart. His brother reacted by jerking back in surprise at the contact, smacking his head against the wall as a result. Stan grimaced, all too aware how much that had to have hurt, given the cut in his head, and he gave his twin's hand a small squeeze, the comforting gesture making Ford slowly look up.

"Easy," Stan said when his brother opened his mouth to say something and a squeak came out.

His breath still came in short wheezing gasps and Stan tightened his grip on Ford's shoulder to help ground him as he started talking, sure to keep his voice low, a lull to coax his twin's breathing into slowing down and evening out.

"Hey, hey, easy, Ford. You're okay. Just breathe, I'm right here."

The words had the desired effect, Ford nodding and closing his eyes before he forced himself to take several measured breathes. Stan felt relief flood his system when his brother's chest rose and fell to match his own decidedly slower breathing pattern and he was no longer afraid his twin would pass out.

The solace was short lived, though, when he noticed the tremors still persisted, and he could see tears that seemed to be staying put in Ford's eyes through sheer willpower alone. He cursed himself for not seeing those sooner.

It wasn't abnormal for Ford to have moments when he needed someone to bring him down, but it had been a long time since he'd been so distraught he would cry, and the knowledge made Stan swallow the lump forming in his throat.

"Hey, shhh," Stan pulled Ford forward gently. He could think of nothing else to do, and when his brother didn't resist and even dropped his forehead onto his shoulder, Stan felt a small weight lift from his chest as his heart cheered him on... Even if he was pretty sure Ford only did it in order to wipe the water from his eyes and still retain what he had of his "dignity". Stan hated that word. Who the hell got to decide what was dignified and what wasn't?

Of course, under any other circumstances Stan might have joked that the nerd had no dignity to begin with. This time he didn't to say anything. Ford's reactions thus far didn't seem like a step backwards, and that was all he could've really hoped for at the moment. He didn't want to ruin it.

Stan wrapped his arms tighter around his brother, rubbing slow circles in the older man's back to try and stop the shaking in the way he knew worked from their youth. He felt Ford tense under his hands and he resisted the urge to shake his head and force his brother to relax again.

"I'm right here, buddy, shhh."

* * *

It didn't feel like much time had passed before Ford finally stopped trembling, but Stan wouldn't have been surprised if it had actually been quite awhile.

When Ford pulled out of the embrace looking somehow worse than before, however, he wished it could have been longer. The way his brother stood, hunched slightly, made Stan want to rush him to the hospital; it was so uncharacteristic. And the tears he'd refused to shed only served to make his eyes red and the bags under them look twice as large.

What made matters worse for him, though, was the fact that Ford was staring at the floor, then the ceiling, the window, everywhere except his face. It did nothing but make him look like the younger version of himself, the one who was ashamed of his birth defect and intelligence. It made Stan want nothing more than to shake his twin out of it.

He was all too aware of the embarrassment one suffered after having an attack in front of someone, but that didn't make him any less concerned. Ford had had them in front of him before and although the first time had been similar to now, the others had been okay, because he understood, so the fact that his brother was reacting as if this was new made him pause.

It wasn't until Ford started backing away towards the door, grabbing his boots off the floor as he went, that Stan said anything.

And the words that came out had him wanting to kick himself as he knew he wouldn't get a straight answer, if he got an answer at all.

"Ford… what's wrong?"

"N-Nonspecific excuse?"

Stan blinked in surprise at how strained Ford's words had come out, how small and almost afraid the question had been delivered, and he found himself suddenly at a loss.

He hadn't expected his brother would say anything, and now that he had, Stan found words would not work for his mouth.

On one hand he wanted to say no, that Ford needed to stay and talk to him, because he was in no state to be running off and some sort of explanation was probably in order… but on the other hand, he didn't want to take that choice away from him. He knew if he told Ford he had to stay and talk, that he would, but he wouldn't be doing it of his own volition, and Stan didn't want that.

He knew what it was like to feel as though you had to speak or people would be upset with you, and he wouldn't wish that feeling on anyone, especially his brother. He didn't want Ford to feel trapped, not when he was so clearly in distress, and not when Stan had no idea what he was supposed to do.

Stan didn't realize he'd been nodding until he heard the small click of the door that signaled Ford's departure.

He sighed, the small noise bouncing around the empty room as he dropped gracelessly on one of the beds, attempting to go over what it could've been that had shaken his brother so badly. That process was proving difficult when every time he closed his eyes for longer than a second he saw Ford, scared and trembling while refusing to meet his eyes- refusing to talk outside of the request to run. Stan didn't want to acknowledge the one explanation for the behavior that came to mind.

Who wanted to acknowledge that they knew their sibling was beating themselves up over something they deemed horrible, and that they were likely playing said horrible thing over and over in their heads- and oh! You don't know what to do?

And that _was_ what Ford was doing, Stan was sure of it. There was no other explanation; the devastated, gut wrenchingly guilty way his brother had looked up from Paolo's mangled face had been enough for Stan to know. If there was one thing Ford always did, it was berate himself for his actions of the past and torture himself coming up with scenarios in which he could have handled things better.

What was getting to Stan, though, was that his brother had looked guilty, but only once he'd heard him yelling and seen him watching.

It made Stan wonder if Ford didn't so much regret what he'd done, but that he'd let him see it.

Stan also wondered, with no small pang of his own brand of guilt, if Ford believed he had logical reason to think he'd done something wrong because of things he had or hadn't said. _After all_ , Stan realized with a sinking feeling, _you did yell at him_ ( _even if it was to get him to stop doing something he'd later regret_ ).

True... and then he hadn't talked to him, and even if that was because he'd been shocked and hadn't known what to say, it wasn't a good excuse, because Ford had taken it the wrong way. How could he have not have? Ford loved silence only when it was companionable or when he was working, and any other time he needed people talking to him, reassuring him that they were around and interested in what had to say, and he needed words even more when he was feeling terrible.

And Stan hadn't said a anything. Of course he was feeling awful and wanted to put distance between them. He thought Stan wasn't happy with him.

Actually, if Stan knew his brother it all, he'd say Ford was probably afraid he'd scared him. That was something he'd likely already been worried about, how Stan'd react once the dust had settled. That could've been a contributing factor to his anxiety attack, and that had only fueled his need to run; he'd been in a vulnerable state then, which on normal days was enough to send his brother hiding, so of course it made sense that he'd wanted to get away this time as well.

The problem with that, though, was that Stan had let him go with minimal hesitation, and in Ford's mind that would only further his belief that Stan wasn't taking any of it well, even when he'd just meant to be understanding. _Maybe leaving him alone wasn't a good idea after all._

No, now that he thought about it Stan realized it was actually a terrible idea. When Ford was left alone with his negative thoughts nothing good ever happened. His brother would dwell on everything he'd perceived he'd done wrong and his head would be a jumbled mess of a million problems he couldn't logically reason out.

 _Not a good idea at all._

"Idiot," Stan muttered, punctuating the word with a face-palm before he went to pull a key card from the pocket of Ford's discarded wet jeans before then grabbing Ford's coat, which was still on the other mattress; even with some blood on it his brother would want it, seeing as nights by the ocean were particularly cold and for some reason wearing it always seemed to comfort him.

And call it a twin thing, but right now, Stan knew Ford needed that more than anything.

* * *

 **A/N: _Only one more chapter to go, my friends! Thanks for sticking with me this far. I hope you're still enjoying yourselves! :)_**

 ** _I'm thinking about posting the last one Wednesday, but only if that's what ya'll want. What do you think?_**


	5. Burdens Best Shared

**A/N:** _ **You have spoken, so you shall receive! The last installment of BKS. Enjoy. ;)**_

* * *

As soon as he stepped outside, Stan found his feet taking him towards the docks, towards the Stan'O'War II, and though he hadn't actually seen where Ford had gone, he was sure he was heading in the right direction. A small smile flitted across Stan's face at how appropriate that was even as he shook his head, telling himself there was no good reason to be even a little amused right then, not when the reason he was going out was so unpleasant. It was probably just his nerves getting the best of him too, but still, not appropriate.

The bit of nostalgia that washed through him was welcome though. It had been a lifetime since circumstances had been such that one of them had gone to the boat and the other had just known where to find them, yet it seemed there were some things that had been ingrained into their very beings. It was a place both of them seemed to naturally gravitate, as if that one little craft on the water was one of the dimensions Ford sometimes spoke about, one made specifically for them.

During childhood the boat had been their play-thing, somewhere they went for fun, to indulge in daydreams of fantastic adventures and better futures. When they were teens it had been their hideaway, their place where they could forget about their troubles, trading them in for work and lulling conversation that ultimately made both feel at ease. Now… Stan wasn't sure what it was to them now, but he was comforted with the certainty that, no matter what happened, so long as they had that boat, they'd be all right. Even if the road to reaching that "all right" was painful.

Stan shook his head to drag himself out of the musings and rolled his eyes at how "Ford" they'd sounded. It was weird hearing long-winded, sentimental, smart-ish-maybe things coming from his own brain sometimes and he reminded himself with a small snort to leave that sort of thought to his brother. Ford was better at it anyway.

The sigh that left him was drowned out by the sound of water lapping gently against various posts and hulls, and Stan slowed his pace so his approach would at least be quiet. He didn't want to freak Ford out any more than he already was. Though, when the Stan'O'War II finally came into view Stan stopped, the sudden lack of movement involuntary but nevertheless helpful as he decided in the same second to collect his thoughts as well as locate exactly where on the boat Ford was.

Although, it took no real effort to spot his brother; Ford stood, back to him, leaning heavily against the boat's railing as he stared out at the starry sky reflected on the slowly rolling waves. Stan wondered what sort of face his twin was pulling right about then because it would have at least given him something to go off of in terms of gauging the overall mood, and then shook his head roughly for how dumb that was. _Now you're just stalling and you know it- his face won't tell you much, and you know that too. Go._

Taking a deep breath as if getting prepared to dive into the water beneath his feet (and he supposed in a way he might as well be), Stan got going once more. He tried being quiet when stepping onto the boat but internally winced when he stumbled and noticed how Ford's shoulders tensed. So… on a scale of "Sucking" to "Utter Fuckup" for how he was already doing with this, Stan would say he was around "Epic Failure".

Could've been worse, he supposed.

It took Stan a moment to swallow down the mounting anxiety brought on by that mess-up, but one he had he went to stand by Ford, making a conscious effort to put himself at what he knew by now to be the perfect distance. It was far enough away to prevent his brother from feeling claustrophobic or uncomfortable, but close enough to make it known that he wasn't just there to admire the view. And if the way Ford's fingernails scraped at the paint beneath them was any indicator, he understood that.

As expected, though, he said nothing to even acknowledge Stan's presence, which left him in the awkward position of having to figure out how to break the silence in a way that would immediately put them on the right conversation track but still keep things light enough that Ford didn't feel like he needed to run again. The fact that nothing was coming to mind other than his typical, "So… what's up?" or "Stars're pretty…", was frustrating beyond all imagining and he had to fight off another grumble of "idiot" that he knew would only be rewarded with a glare from his brother.

Again it struck him as both odd and funny that under any other circumstances he'd have been able to talk circles around Ford (in some departments anyway), but now he could barely even think up a proper sentence _starter_.

Everything he could think up fell flat a second later when he imagined how much more awkward it would make things, and it didn't help that the longer he let the silence persist the more closed off Ford's body language and expression became. It made Stan worry that if he said nothing for any longer his brother might be unwilling to speak with him at all, and that made the man jittery to point he decided it was better to say something bad than nothing at all.

However, as had become more and more frequent recently, Ford cut him off before he could start with a heavy sigh that sounded tense and tired, his head and shoulders drooping as the air left him.

"We can't ignore this anymore, can we?"

Stan hated how resigned his twin sounded, how utterly defeated he looked as his gaze dropped to the water below them.

He had wanted to know what Ford had been keeping from him for the longest time, and there was no doubt about it that it had something to do with what had happened because Ford certainly had never been like that before going through the Portal. However, now that the option to find out was right in front of him, Stan didn't want to hear it.

He'd thought that if he just found out sooner rather than later then things would be better, because at least he would understand where Ford was coming from when he said and did things that made zero sense to him; had thought it so often that he'd gotten angry with his brother when he didn't tell him, but seeing Ford's reaction to possibly having to say something now made Stan retract those ideas.

Sure, he still did want to know -he wanted that more than anything- the only problem was that he didn't want to find out like _this_.

He wanted Ford to talk to him because _he_ wanted to, because he trusted him, not because he felt like he owed him an explanation. He didn't want to see his brother looking so conflicted and nervous (afraid). And Ford _did_ look conflicted, like he too was having some internal struggle that Stan might not ever understand.

"We can, actually."

The answer slipped out softly, hanging in the air for longer than Stan expected it would as Ford stared at him, stunned and not sure what to say.

Stan would've needed to be blind to miss the hopeful but confused look in his brother's eyes. All he could do was shrug and hand Ford the coat he remembered he was holding onto.

"It's fine, Ford. Don't worry about it."

At that point Stan expected his silence, but that didn't make it any less uncomfortable for him. However, when Ford wrapped the coat around himself and sighed quietly in what could only have been relief, the air became lighter. That was, until he spoke and Stan found himself blinking in surprise out how swiftly his brother changed the subject and diverted the attention onto him.

"Back there, you remembered something. What was it?"

Ah. Yes. That. He'd almost forgotten about that.

The question from his brother wasn't necessarily unexpected, but Stan had sort of hoped he would wait until the morning to bring it up. Granted, Ford had never exactly waited to ask before, so why he'd thought it would be any different this time he didn't know. He was willing to tell him -he trusted Ford with everything in him- but he had been silently rooting for a delay on it. At least long enough for him to figure it out.

Oh well.

Stan wasn't sure if his sigh was contained inside his head or not as he thought back to everything he'd seen earlier that evening. If he was going to be honest, he still couldn't differentiate which reality had been the memory until the point where he noticed Ford standing there, but, he supposed if he thought about it carefully he could figure it out.

Using what he remembered being there when the memory had finally stopped, Stan pieced together some semblance of a proper explanation, and he figured it was accurate because the more he thought about it, the more familiar it became.

"That guy, the one who did this," Stan pointed to the gauze that covered the cut in his neck, "his name was Paolo. Paolo Zinteni. He's part of the, uh… I think it was the Canadian mob that worked under the Mafia family here. Can't believe he's still alive, to be honest. He's at least ten years older than us- ages well, so he's got that goin' for him if nothin' else at least. Heh, though I guess nobody will be able to tell now…"

Ford flinched at the reminder of what he'd done and Stan winced at the tactless words. _Stick to the past, moron._

"Right, anyway," He cleared his throat a little awkwardly, "I ran into him and his goons a couple months after what happened in Columbia- you remember that one. I think I was try'na keep my nose clean? Yeah, didn't work that way. Guess word spreads when popular guys like Rico get outsmarted by scrappy kids.

"Anyhoo, I ran into him and they'd heard'a me, so naturally they offered me a job. It a… I didn't wanna do it- at least I think I didn't? Whatever, they convinced me, or forced me- the details are a little fuzzy there. Hm…"

Stan let his gaze drift to Ford, looking to gauge his reaction so far to see if he should continue as he realized the memory was drifting into territory they hadn't exactly gone into great detail on during their previous discussions about their first decade apart. By the looks of it, Ford was either actually taking it fine or faking it well. Whatever the case, Stan took it as an okay to keep going.

"They had me as a mule or somethin'- don't really remember much on that..."

A lie, and probably one Ford saw right through, but Stan didn't want to burden his brother with the details. Hell, he didn't want to mention the details when just thinking about having to swallow those balloons was making his stomach twist painfully. Not his fondest memories.

"But when I got back from a trip I may or may not have been stopped by the feds. I dunno how they knew who I was, but they did- actually, now that I think about it, it was probably my record. Yeah. Duh. But, uh, they picked me up and said I either tell em where Paolo's gang was, or I go to prison. I sure as hell wasn't going to prison again.

"They had me meet up with Paolo and the guys so they could follow me and make sure I wasn't setting 'em up, or somethin' like that. 'Bout halfway through the meet Paolo figured something was up and that's when things went south. I think I got stabbed- but nothing serious, obviously. Everything after that is… that's where it cut off.

"I guess after however many year he put in the big house Paolo got out, heard I died but never really forgot my face. Saw me back here and… well, mobs and mafia are like this weird, fucked up family, and they do this stupid thing where they vow or whatever, to find and kill whoever screws 'em over.

"He's got good memory. Unlike me, ha."

Ford was quiet for a beat longer and Stan said nothing because he understood it was going to take a minute for his twin to process everything. It was a lot to take in when he'd only ever hinted at some of the less pleasant parts of his life.

Sure, Ford knew about his time in that Colombian prison with Rico and Jorge. He knew how they'd tried to kill him -even if he still didn't know how- and he knew there was more he hadn't been told, but Stan would bet the million bucks he didn't have that Ford hadn't taken into account the vast amount of tough, gritty situations living on the streets put a person in.

Now, whether that was just lack of thought (and Stan knew Ford had done his best to forget him at times, so it was possible) or denial on his brother's part, he couldn't be sure.

Whatever the case, the way his hands were slowly curling and uncurling in a clearly agitated manner led Stan to believe he hadn't exactly considered how dangerous his life had been. Not that it mattered. It was all in the past, so there wasn't any need to be getting huffy over it.

Sure, Stan didn't think he'd ever forget what he'd gone through, but at the same time it wasn't something he often thought about. Those memories were buried under a mountain of newer, better ones.

Those memories were shadows in the closet, the things that went bump in the night, the monsters that occasionally had him waking in a cold sweat... But they were only memories. They couldn't hurt him now, anymore than that demon triangle could, so there was no reason to treat them like a huge deal.

It did make him wonder, though, if that was the only memory that hadn't been restored until now, or if there were more. He'd thought he'd recovered everything before, but he supposed when you forgot your entire life and the things you did remember fit into perfect chronological order, then you would think you'd remembered all there was.

Still, at the moment, it didn't matter.

When it became clear that Ford didn't quite understand the unspoken sentiment, Stan shrugged again, letting the movement catch his twin's eye as he spoke, sounding completely unperturbed.

"But hey, shit happens. It's pretty much water under the bridge at this point."

Ford said nothing yet still and Stan bit his tongue to keep from going on; there was no use blabbering when his brother was obviously absorbing the information. He was so quiet, in fact, that Stan found himself almost missing when he muttered, "I'm sorry that happened to you."

He did hear him, though, and Stan couldn't help but scoff, the sound not so much derision as it was surprised amusement, making Ford blink and frown slightly before Stan rolled his eyes.

"Quit bein' sorry for things ya can't control, Si-ah-Stanford. As far as I'm concerned, you've apologized more than enough already… for now."

The snort that the added last bit pulled from Ford made a smile tug at the corners of Stan's mouth. At least even when he was making his brother think about unpleasant things he could still get a laugh out of him. It was nice, knowing he was still good for something in regards to Ford, even when somber situations such as these dulled most of the mirth.

"Maybe so, but I am nonetheless," Ford said before his expression fell once more and he was looking out onto the water.

Stan wished he'd stop doing that since it was more annoying than anything when he was obvious about trying to hide what was running through his mind.

"Oi, don't go all mysterious, brood-master on me. What's up?"

Ford sighed heavily and tilted his head back to stare at the stars that were slowly beginning to dot the sky. Stan didn't follow his line of sight, more intently focused on the short flashes of emotion he caught as his twin spoke.

"Stan… I want to tell you why I reacted like that, but-"

"Hey, Ford, I said you don't have to-"

"But I _want_ to. I owe you that much, don't you think? After all, you're willing to share-"

"I don't want you telling me cuz you "owe" me, Ford."

He straightened out at that, no longer leaning against the railing as he whirled on Stan, throwing his arms out in exasperation, his voice climbing higher, frustration cracking the words in a way that reminded Stan of Dipper.

"Then what _do_ you want?"

He couldn't help it when his voice rose until he was almost yelling to match Ford's volume. "I want you to tell me because you trust me!"

"I do trust you! Wha- What made you think I didn't?"

Stan opened his mouth to reply but found no words came out when he noticed how hurt Ford seemed over his thinking he didn't trust him. It made Stan ask why he didn't just tell him earlier that week before all of this happened, but it sounded childish even in his mind. There were the occasional moments when Stan could say he knew how to act like a mature adult.

However, Ford's change in demeanor, as well as his sudden adamant desire to say what was on his mind, did beg the question: Why now? Stan decided that one was okay, so long as he worded the question right.

"Why do you want to all the sudden?"

Ford blinked owlishly.

 _Okay, he wasn't expecting that..._

"W-what?"

Stan kept his tone level as he repeated the question.

"Why didn't you say anything earlier?"

His earlier bravado disappearing in an instant, Ford went to turn away again. He was stopped only by Stan's hands grabbing his shoulders. There was no way he was going to be allowed to get out of this now.

"Huh-uh, none of that crap," His brother flinched and Stan conceded that he had sounded harsher than he'd meant to. Taking a breath, he spoke again, sure to be soft so Ford actually listened.

"Just tell me why and I'll leave you alone- you don't have to say anything more."

Any fight that might have been present in his twin before bled away as Ford bowed his head, apparently finding sudden interest in the woodwork beneath their feet as his shoulders drooped, his fate accepted.

He was still quiet for several beats, but Stan didn't worry about pressing him any further; they had all night and he knew Ford was only collecting his thoughts, not being stubborn.

"You have to promise you won't hate me."

He felt his brain short circuit as his hold on Ford went limp and he looked at his brother with the most baffled expression he'd ever worn in his entire life. A strained sound eventually made it past his lips that Ford would likely later describe as the keen of a dying Banthar and it took Stan a minute to realize he was laughing, which in turn would explain the odd way his twin was eyeing him.

And he knew this wasn't funny, but for the life of him he couldn't stop himself, because of all the reasons Ford could have had for keeping to himself, that was the one Stan had least expected. So… maybe it _was_ a _little_ funny.

"Me? Hate you. Jeez, Ford, relax!"

"I'm not- I'm… being serious, Stanley."

He knew that. He knew Ford was being serious, but the small voice coming out of his brother helped to drive home just _how_ serious. This wasn't like when they were kids, and the "of course I won't hate you" sentiment wasn't implied like he'd thought it was… Ford... really did need to know.

 _He really thinks I could hate him?_

"Ford," Stan sighed heavily to kill any nervous, residual laughter, before looking his twin in the eye. "I promise I won't. I thought after everything we've been through it would be pretty obvious that I could never hate you. If I was gonna hate you don't ya think I woulda done it a long time ago?"

Ford shook his head a little harder than necessary and Stan resisted the urge to roll his eyes even while something weighed heavy in his gut. He didn't believe him… did he? Stan had always thought his brother had hated him on some level or another that he never spoke of, but not once had he entertained the thought that Ford might think he thought the same.

"At the very least you'll no longer trust me."

"Bullshit," Stan stated without thinking about it, "But okay."

"Y-You won't see me the same as before…"

"Well, with these cataracts and screwed up lens I'm not really seeing anything the same."

It was a poor attempt to lighten the mood and both men knew it but Stan could think of nothing else to do. Ford was obviously having a not-so-internal battle over what he was trying to do and say, and everything coming out of his mouth sounded more like he was trying to convince Stan he didn't want to hear anything more.

It was as if he didn't believe Stan when he'd said he really didn't need to hear an explanation, and even if he was telling him he trusted him and wanted to tell him, Stan wasn't so sure. He couldn't be certain, though, because they'd encountered plenty of instances in which Ford put off saying what he wanted for as long as possible and took every road he could think to avoid it; Stan knew where his trust issues stopped, Ford's kept going and it took much longer for his brother to feel comfortable letting his inner thoughts known, even around people he'd known for years.

Or maybe he was trying to dispel his own fears by letting Stan shoot them down.

"I'm serious, though," He added when it was clear Ford was having trouble deciding where to go from there, "You don't have to tell me anything. I get it, and I won't be mad. And I definitely won't hate you."

"Heh," Ford dragged a hand through his hair, releasing his breath in a heavy sigh. "I know. Of course, yes. I just- ahem. Yes. Okay, um-"

Stan gave his twin's shoulder a reassuring squeeze and Ford cleared his throat again, turning his attention back to the sky as if searching for help amongst the stars. When he started, Stan made conscious effort to stay put and not lean forward into his personal space in an attempt to get a listen at his brother's thoughts.

When Ford did speak, he kept his face towards the cosmos, and Stan wouldn't have been surprised if he was allowing himself to get lost in them, letting the words tumble from his mouth but not registering exactly what he was saying. He did that sometimes, when he was explaining complex things over and over in as layman's of terms as he was able to get.

"I've done… many things I regret, as you already know. I'm sure after… earlier, you can imagine what some of those might have been."

Nodding slowly and feeling his throat suddenly go dry at the recent memory, Stan swallowed. He could guess where Ford was going with this, but if the churning in his gut is anything to go by he wasn't going to want to hear it. Yet he didn't dare interrupt, and Ford, unaware of what wasn't spoken, kept going.

"I tried to avoid hurting anyone for as long as I could, but it seemed for every good dimension I came across there were five more that wished me ill. Bill had a bounty -an entire _galaxy_ \- on my head, I had to learn to defend myself. I-I had to survive, Stanley. I needed food, shelter, someone to turn a blind eye so I could pass safely through. I did what I _had_ to do and-"

"Whoa, whoa, Stanford, you're making no sense now. Slow down." Stan brought his hands up in a clear message to stop. He could hear the panicked edge his brother's words had started taking as he sounded more and more like he's trying to defend himself before he'd even said anything detrimental.

Ford looked embarrassed and swallowed nervously. "Sor-"

"It's fine, don't apologize."

Stan was so tired of hearing him apologize when he'd done nothing wrong. It was practically a reflex now, which was as upsetting to him now as it was during their childhood.

Once his brother collected his thoughts further, Stan was relieved to note he sounded less unsure in what he was saying, like he'd gotten a plan for the speech in mind mapped out. Good. Ford with a plan was... well he hated to say "easier", but it was true. Hysterical Ford was just hard to manage- always had been.

"You saw what I did to those men."

The vehement emphasis on the word "men" didn't go unnoticed, but for the sake of the conversation Stan ignored it.

"Yeah."

"You realize if… if you hadn't interfered I would have-"

"Yeah," Stan interrupted. He could tell Ford hadn't wanted to finish that sentence; his fidgeting had gotten worse. The two shared an understanding nod before getting back on track.

"I've… done worse, Stan."

Stan wasn't all that sure he wanted to ask Ford to elaborate, but his mouth apparently ran with his thoughts before he could stop it. "...How much worse?"

"I…" Ford paused to breathe and Stan did his best not to twitch, feeling antsy even though he was fairly certain he already knew what his twin would say.

"Stanley, I can't tell you everything- not yet, anyway. 30 years is..."

"A long time."

"Mm," He nodded when Stan finished for him.

The silence that proceeded after was like a heavy quilt, smothering and much too hot in spite of the cold nighttime air, but Ford's eyes had taken a distant look to them that had Stan knowing if he wanted his twin to keep talking he'd have to get his attention.

Not that _that_ was ever difficult. Nope. Never. It wasn't like Ford's mind ran a mile a minute or anything.

"Ford?"

The man startled and Stan winced apologetically, not having realized how zoned out he'd become, even though he really should have. Ford recovered quickly, though, and went on as if he hadn't stopped.

"Before I say anymore, I just- you need to know I did what I felt necessary to survive."

That was never a good way to get into things, Stan knew that all too well, but he could see where his brother was coming from and he let Ford know that. "I get it, Ford, and I'll understand, whatever it is."

 _Bad promise, moron! What if you_ don't _get it?_

 _Shut up._

Stan was already more than aware that what it was had the potential to be twice as bad as what he'd been putting together, because not only was Ford scared to the point of having a panic attack, but Stan knew firsthand the lengths people would go to when they felt they have no other choices for survival.

"Families, Stanley. Women. _Children_. Anyone who came too close… or seemed threatening. You saw how I was after everything with _him_. I'd be lying if I said I'd never gotten to that point again once or twice. Worse. Sometimes..."

Ford trailed off but there was no explanation needed to what he was referring to, what he was talking about. It wasn't difficult to put two and two together.

Still, there was something he was trying to say, and yet kept stopping himself before he could get to it. Stan couldn't help but tilt his head and make a questioning noise that had Ford catching his gaze and blurting out the words before he could prepare himself to hear them.

"I didn't always hate it. I was _feral!_ " Ford spit the word like poison even while he choked on it, a hand shooting to cover his mouth.

The shock that hit Stan when the words sunk in had him grabbing the nearby rail for support. The thought of Ford actually killing someone, whether it was self defense or no, would've been almost comical just yesterday, but now… now it left a pit in his stomach. The fact that Ford had gotten to a point so low that he'd felt he _had to_ was… it pained him. Nobody was supposed to reach that level of desperation, _especially_ not his family.

At least now the way Ford had fought, his movements fluid, perfect like he'd done it a million times, made sense. He probably _had_ done them a million times. To survive -for money, or food, or whatever was offered… his brother had killed people (aliens?) and even if it was staggering, it wasn't the worst revelation Stan had been expecting.

And hey, Stan had had his fair share of feeling good after hurting someone if it meant he got to live another day, so there was no way he would hold that against his brother. Though, Ford probably hadn't realized all he'd been feeling was a weird mixture of triumph and relief, and that was why he thought he'd liked it. After all, Ford overthought everything negative that happened to him until he had some sort of insanely guilty conscience thing going. For a genius, he could be such an idiot.

Still, it was hard to think about Ford doing anything like that, especially when the only images wanting to flash through Stan's mind then showed the side of his brother that laughed at puns, and loved cuddling the kids, and stayed up all night researching, but chastised Stan when he found him awake at the same hours.

The Ford that _purred_ like a giant old cat when he was content, and did everything within his power to keep those around him safe, whether he knew them or not.

The Ford that hadn't left his side while he'd been getting his memories back even though he could have.

Yet on the other hand Stan kept seeing the other sides of Ford. The ones that only now made sense, the parts that Ford tried to hide but didn't always succeed in doing. The Ford that watched everyone's movements cautiously, the one that growled like some kind of animal when he perceived he was being threatened, the one that jumped at shadows and spewed wild strings of violent curses, both in languages belonging to Earth and not, when he was working and thought nobody could hear him…

The one that could take down multiple armed assailants and almost beat one to death without flinching.

Yes, it made sense- in fact it made so much of the puzzle click into place it was amazing.

Why Ford had deflected the Portal conversations over and over and gotten so defensive whenever Stan didn't leave it alone, why he'd been so scared to tell Stan anything regarding those days.

He understood now, and he both did and did not want to.

It became clear in a way Stan had never thought it would, and while the revelation was disturbing to say the least, Stan found he wasn't at all upset like he'd expected he would be, and that fact didn't surprise him like it should have.

After all, he had seen his own experiences and how they'd made him act in the past in some of Ford's actions before. He just hadn't acknowledged them.

Hell, he'd seen himself in that horrifying grin as Ford had been pummeling Paolo, and Stan didn't like to admit what that said about his character any more than he liked to think about what it said about Ford's.

Yet, it wasn't a world shattering discovery, and it certainly wasn't enough to make Stan hate his brother or even view him all that differently; he was still Ford. He was still a huge nerd who loved long coats way too much and was obsessed with his anomalies. Now he just had… "asskicker who was pretty awesomely terrifying when you pissed him off" added to the list.

Yes, what Ford had just disclosed was upsetting, but not in the way anyone would have expected. It was upsetting because it almost physically pained Stan to think about how awful things must have been for Ford to believe he had no other option; how scared his brother must have been. Because if his own life on the streets could measure up to even half as bad as the Portal… Stan didn't want to think about what that meant for Ford.

The fact that his brother obviously felt such remorse for his feelings and actions that he was so broken up to the point he'd convinced himself Stan would hate him was what really drove the stake through Stan's heart, and had his throat tightening, though.

He would never - _never_ \- think ill of his brother for protecting himself… Ford should have known that. Had he not made it clear enough to his twin? Had he needed to do a better job after those times calming Ford down after the kids had gone home?

Or did Ford truly think that little of himself when he was in that state of mind?

If so, it only spoke all the more volumes as to who his brother really was:

He was still Ford.

That's what it boiled down to.

Yes, he'd killed people, but he'd done it for reasons he considered imperative to survival, and considering Stan had done his fair share of questionable things for the sake of staying alive (and even after he was safe), who was he to judge?

And what had happened earlier… Stan had already made peace with the fact that Ford had been protecting him. That was all that mattered.

The only unfortunate thing about everything, though, was that he'd said zero of his thoughts aloud, and it wasn't until Stan heard Ford tentatively say his name, fear lacing the his voice heavily, that he realized he hadn't said anything for quite awhile.

Stan meant to lead with something deep and meaningful to let his brother know everything was fine, because he knew how sensitive he needed to be; Ford had bared a part of himself to him that he could've kept secret.

But, as per usual as of late, the only word his throat actually produced was more of a sound, and not at all what he'd meant to say.

"Huh."

The way Ford suddenly blanched and repeated the word back to him in a way that sounded numb and broken had Stan fighting off panic.

 _Shitshitshit! Say something! You_ moron!

"No, wait, that's not what I wanted to say! Just, uh…"

Ford looked on the verge of tears at that point and Stan felt his heart clench painfully at the sight. It wasn't often nowadays that his twin allowed himself to cry, and when he did Stan knew he'd better be prepared for at least an hour of quality time (usually in some form of cuddling) afterward.

Thankfully, Ford held it in at least long enough for Stan to get his voice working again.

"Look, remember how I said with those guys how it was water under the bridge? Well, that goes for you too- even though you didn't do anything to me... well, anything like that. Ugh, no, ignore that, that was stupid. Uh, what I mean is..." Stan scowled at the floorboards, willing the correct words to come to him.

 _Nothing._

 _Figures._

Stan scratched the back of his neck. How to start? What was it that Mabel always said? _"Start from the beginning. Speak from the heart. Word-vomit is better than no vomit at all!"_

He sure hoped she was right.

"Look, what you did in the past… it's _in the past_. It doesn't define you and it doesn't change who you are now. And… who you are is _my brother_. I know you'd never hurt me. You protected me. If you hadn't I'd be- yeah. And I could never hate you for surviving. If I'm pissed with anyone, I'm pissed with Bill! If he hadn't done anything to you in the first place…"

"I let him," Ford said.

"Doesn't matter!" Ford looked away and Stan snapped his fingers to bring his attention back, "Hey, it doesn't. I don't care if you let him or if he forced you. Point is, cuz of him, bad things happened. But what happened to you, it's not your fault. None of this is your fault."

The slight tremor in his brother's hands didn't go unnoticed and Stan swallowed the lump in his throat. The fact that Ford still harbored so much guilt for things that had been out of his control once set into motion was hard to see. He wasn't supposed to look how Stan felt most days. It wasn't right, and he just wanted to make it better.

"I'm not mad, and I don't blame you, Sixer. If anything I should be thanking y- _oof!_ "

The wind was knocked out him when Ford barreled into his chest, but he couldn't care too much as he wrapped his arms around his brother to holding him steady. There it was. That was much, much better.

The small shuddering breaths that escaped from where Ford had his face buried in his shoulder served to make Stan squeeze harder, and when he felt twelve fingers grasp his shirt tightly the younger twin smiled, muttering quiet reassurances until the last of the tension in Ford's shoulders bled away.

Stan had expected that reaction from his brother, but what he hadn't expected was just how completely relieved Ford was to not have been pushed away. It made Stan want to keep hold of him for the remainder of the night and protect him from the voices in his head that had led him to think he would be rejected; made him want to shield him from the demons that haunted him still.

It had been a long time since Stan had felt that need to protect his twin, but it felt… almost good to have that back. The fact that Ford was willing to allow the comfort was pleasant as well. It had been too long since they had clung to each other like that. Much too long.

They stayed like way for some time, until the moon had risen high enough to cast a cool glow on them from above; Stan just holding Ford and listening to his even breathing and feeling his heart beating almost in time with his own. Ford occasionally mentioned how it was probably getting late but never made any attempt to severe the contact and head back to the motel.

When Stan did finally release his brother it was only because Ford had begun nodding off and nearly collapsed in his arms.

" _Ack!_ Oi, Ford, wake up!"

"Wha-? Oh!"

To his credit, Ford _did_ wake up- Stan just wished he'd had the sense to not move as quickly as he had, because the ringing in his ears caused by Ford's head slamming into his jaw wasn't exactly pleasant. The metal plate in his head hadn't helped any either.

"Sorry," Ford immediately mumbled, fixing his glasses before they could slide off his nose completely.

Stan waved it off and stifled a yawn, "'S fine."

"Maybe we should go get some rest before we head out tomorrow," Ford suggested with a barely contained yawn of his own, "You look exhausted."

Stan stared incredulously at his brother before dissolving into a short fit of laughter.

Of course Ford would never admit he was tired. It was an act long perfected since childhood and Stan couldn't help but grin when he realized it hadn't been forced either; Ford was being genuinely normal again… as far as his standards for that sort of thing went with him. He wasn't faking being okay for Stan's sake, he wasn't reacting negatively to what had been discussed… He was okay.

In fact, Stan was tempted to go so far as to say that when he caught Ford's eyes, his twin appeared at peace.

Of course, he knew they hadn't solved all of their problems yet, and that there were still plenty of things they'd both yet to reveal, plenty of skeletons in their closets, but now, knowing Ford trusted him with the past just as much as Stan trusted him… it made the road ahead a lot less daunting.

So it was with playful nudge to Ford's side and a knowing look, that Stan replied.

"Stanford, ya read my mind."

* * *

 **A/N: _The end. I hope it lived up to expectations and that you are satisfied with this ending._**

 _ **Man, this was truly a ride, guys. Thank you to everyone read this and stuck with it! I couldn't have done it without your support and truly wonderful words of encouragement. You're all the best, really.**_

 _ **There will be plenty more you will see from me, but until then, seeya, friends.**_

 _ **Stay Nerdy.**_


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